


i'm gonna break on, break on through

by goreallegore



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Future Fic, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-04-30 21:25:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 47,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5180282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goreallegore/pseuds/goreallegore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I thought you’d understand,” Harry says. His tone is clipped. He’s standing a good few feet away from Niall, standing straight with his arms crossed over his chest, his entire body screaming the thoughts he refuses to put out. </p>
<p>Does Niall understand? Maybe. Yeah. After all, he’s been known to be the one who always goes with the flow, refusing to let any hurdle affect him or slow him down – them down. It’s just that it is exhausting. Expected to be the one who understands. </p>
<p>Or; Niall goes solo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. and take whatever you're given

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, so, like I could call this fic my baby cause I've worked real hard on it. Probably the last few months and even though it's still not finished I was advised to post what I have. Writing Niall POV is tough but hopefully I did it justice. 
> 
> Shoutout to my cheerleader, my constant support, Sav for holding my hand through this. I wouldn't have written this without her. Shout out to Amy for always just listening to me rant. 
> 
> Oh, this fic is also dedicated to a special friend, Nicole. She pushed me to continue writing a major fic out of my drabble. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN ONE DIRECTION
> 
> title from My Kind Of Man by the great Vance Joy (i love him)

It’s quiet. The buzz of the city outside his hotel being the only sound seeping in through the cracked window, giving him some momentum, a reminder of where he is and _why_. Though the silence engulfing his surroundings is unsettling, making his skin crawl. He’s always been one to bridge the gaps with his own chortle, or the strum of the guitar, or just a simple observation he had made but right now he feels out of his element. Words heavy on his tongue, throat running dry and a niggling thought at the back of his mind pleading to be brought to attention.

“I thought you’d _understand_ ,” Harry says. His tone is clipped. He’s standing a good few feet away from Niall, standing straight with his arms crossed over his chest, his entire body screaming the thoughts he refuses to put out.

Does Niall understand? Maybe. Yeah. After all, he’s been known to be the one who _always_ goes with the flow, refusing to let any hurdle affect him or slow him down – _them_ down. It’s just that it is _exhausting_. Expected to be the one who _understands_.

“Right,” Niall breathes out finally, words coming out slow and processed. Harry is staring at him, now. Hope glazing his eyes, a small frown tugging at his lips. “Explains why you’ve been distancing yourself. Makes sense now.”

Harry sighs, leaning against the dresser. “Aren’t you going to say something? _Anything_?”

He looks much more resigned than before, his shoulders slumped and his hands gripping on to the faux wood. Niall almost wants to reach out and swat away his hands, allowing his fingers to be released from the pain.

“’s fine. Can’t say I didn’t see it coming,” Niall shrugs, shifting his gaze to Harry’s face. Green eyes so big, sporting a flicker of guilt making Niall’s insides churn – he didn’t think he’d be experiencing something like this again. And so soon at that.

They both don’t say anything for a bit letting the silence blanket over them; the sound of their breathing calming Niall’s nerves. He _wants_ to ask. Didn’t receive that option last time but something about this scares him.

He steadies himself by adjusting in his chair, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the ends – it’s a nervous habit he developed in the past few years. “You wanted to leave before him. You’ve always wanted to leave.”

It’s more of a statement than a question – he doesn’t even know when they got to this point. A cluster of confusion and feelings that no one would address.

“Niall, I-” Harry stutters, “You know it’s not like that. _You know what this means to me._ ”

“Harry, you want to leave. I get it,” Niall says, his tone anything but accusatory, “I think you should be more worried about Lou or Liam. Been a hard few months don’t know how this is gonna roll wit’em”

Harry pushes himself off the dresser marching towards Niall, his hands fisting around Niall’s shirt as he raises him to eye-level, “Why the _fuck_ do you not care? I just told you that I want to leave the band and you look like you could give two shits.”

His grip around Niall’s shirt loosens as tears start trickling down his cheeks, “how could you not _care_ about this? _About **us**?_ ”

Niall’s never seen Harry like this. His eyes are wild and his breathing ragged; flushed cheeks marking his rage and loss of composure. Niall’s entirely shocked that he was able to elicit such behavior out of the other boy – someone who’s known for his soft words and calm demeanor. Niall nearly feels bad, the only thing stopping him is the clear betrayal on the other’s behalf.

 Niall jerks away, tamping down the area where Harry ruffled his shirt, “What _us_?”

Harry trips backwards looking at Niall incredulously. Niall takes that as his cue to continue, “You let go of _us_ when you flew back to LA to Nadine. You let go of us when you turned down all my advances. But most of all when you stood in front of me and told me that you wanted to leave the band.”

He pauses only take in a deep breath, “You want me to understand? Why? Why must **_I_** always understand? Is it cause I’m your best friend? Or is it cause we _fucked_?”

His words are harsh and he knows it but he’s sat on the sidelines for far too long, accepting whatever people have thrown at him. Because that’s who he is. He accepts and moves on.

His hands are clammy, and his ears feel a tad too hot – he’s almost sure that he’s tomato red but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Niall,” he enunciates, his raspy voice breathing out the vowels in a way that leaves Niall agitated. “Niall, you know what this band means to me. What you mean to me. This is how I feel though and I can’t help that…but losing you is not part of this. Please don’t make it a part of this.”

His eyes are pleading forgiveness, his cheeks splotchy and tear stained. Niall wishes that he could turn the clock and go back to the time where everything was simpler. But wishful thinking is never a good thing.

He can blame the tugging at his heart for what he does next, pulling the brunette into a hug and hushing away his cries. A sound he never wanted to commit to his memory. He doesn’t know what will happen next, or if they’ll ever even sort this out but right now all he knows is that there is only so much he can take of Harry crying. And he’s really pushed his limits to the max this time.

\--

Niall signs his name on the crisp paper, his hands sliding across it fluidly and the ink leaving behind letters forging his name. He glides the papers in Anna’s direction. She immediately lifts the packet skimming over the printed sheet and nodding her head along to details intricately conjoined in the contract.

“Now that all four of you have signed the disclosure contract you are no longer Syco’s nor Modests’ liability and are not restricted to sign to another label. Additionally, any music orientated sales One Direction will make from now onwards will be split evenly between you and the label, just as before. However, the company holds the rights to any merchandise they feel necessary to discontinue,” Anna explains, her tone rigid and lacking emotion.

Niall glances sideways, seeing the other boys nodding away at the terms and condition reiterated to them – not that they hadn’t already read all the clauses attached.

“Finally, One Direction the brand name will continue to market its preordained customers. And you’re not allowed to use it under any circumstance to benefit your relaunch. Louis and Liam, the label that you wish to setup from the shares you’ve invested in the trademarks have been approved to be released to your disposal. You can sell them as you please. You are, also, welcome to set-up the company as a subdivision under SYCO or as a completely separate entity. Harry, your request to be signed to different management under Irving Azoff’s management has been approved you are no longer bound to our solo artist contracts either. However, if each of you choose to return as a four-piece under the name of One Direction, you’re more than welcome to do so,” she finishes, not sparing a single breath.

Simon is seated beside her rubbing his fingers, it’s making Niall twitch in his seat. He feels compartmentalized around all these officials, as if he’s just a chess piece to their elongated game.  It’s kind of ironic how this is the same room where they signed their first contract, young and naïve ready to sing their hearts out because that was their passion. Now it’s more of a corporate money making machine they had built with hard work and late nights; some losing their vision along the way and some just becoming submissive.

He’s tapping at the table trying to rid the jitters that have seemed to settle in his bones. He’s not nervous per say but there’s this uncomfortable feeling surrounding him. He’s choking under the gazes of many and feels like he his running short on air. Niall’s claustrophobia may, or may not, be acting up.

“Well, I suppose that’s all boys.” Simon says, his words loud and clear, faintly serving as a reminder that it’s ending. _One direction is ending_.

Niall braces himself for last hugs and teary goodbyes, standing and turning to one of the executives – was it Alan? Richard? His memory bank has seem to blurred, the only thought that is on repeat is of their final bow. Tomorrow at Wembley stadium. Tomorrow will be the last time they will perform to a crowd, _together_. A chill runs through his body leaving behind goosebumps.

Once he’s said his thank you’s and goodbyes to all the faces that seem less important in comparison to the boys, he feels like a weight has been loaded onto him. The suffocating feeling is back stronger than ever and feels his stomach rumble due to the unpleasantness. He sees Liam wiping away his tears, eyes crinkling at something Louis had said as he pulls him into a hug, Harry hovering behind and watching them with a faint-knowing smile. If anyone is going to be okay _it’s them_ , he reads in his eyes and just for a moment he thinks whether Niall could say the same about him and Harry.

Liam spots Niall awkwardly peeking onto the private moment and gestures for him to join, Louis pulling at Harry’s sleeve at the same time. They embrace one another in a group hug, letting go only to stand in their circular formation. “You lot are everything to me,” Liam says earnestly. Niall believes him.

\--

Niall flies back home to Ireland right after their last show, everything about London seems all too familiar and he just needs an escape to somewhere where the familiarity won’t sting. It’s not that he’s mad – upset, maybe, but not mad. Everything happened so fast that he didn’t get a second to slow down and breathe, take in everything around him and properly savor it. It’s okay though. He’s free, almost indefinitely, unless he decides to go solo. _Solo. Going solo wasn’t an option before_.

He tucks away that realization at the back of his mind, focusing in on his planner; he has days marked as important meetings, studio sessions and a hair appointment for the following week. He figures having the weekend to himself should be enough to shake off the sluggish feeling he’s been harboring since their meeting on Wednesday.

Ireland is pretty much the same. Green pastures and the smell of cow dung filling the air as he flies into Mullingar. His town is quite small, notorious cobblestone pavements, streetlamps on every corner and family-run pubs for the locals. It’s an intimate sort of affair, his town that is.

He chooses to stay with his Da than finding his own place. Bobby opens his childhood house with a warm smile and even warmer hug, “glad t’ have you back, son.”

Niall stands there reveling in his father’s embrace, smelling the faint smell of fabric softener on his jumper as he nuzzles into his neck. He hasn’t properly hugged his Da in years. He missed it.

Bobby pulls back his smile faltering a bit, “cuppa? Just got your favorite lemon and ginger from the store.”

Niall nods following in his father’s steps and dropping his carry-on by the dining table. The house is pleasantly quiet. It’s soothing.

His pulls out one of the chairs tucked into the dining table and scrolls through his messages while his Da prepares tea. He’s halfway through reading Tom’s message when his Dad places a cup of hot golden-ish liquid in front of him, “drink up.”

The cup is quite warm making the tips of his fingers tinge. Bobby clears his throat after taking a healthy gulp of his own scalding hot drink, “Ya alri’? Been quiet.”

Niall doesn’t exactly know what to say, always been reticent about personal matters, but he still feels a spark of guilt for lying to his father. “Have a lot on me mind,” he supplies hoping Bobby would understand. And like always he does. He doesn’t prod him any further.

Niall spends the next couple of days slacking around the house, helping Bobby with dinner, laundry and other menial tasks. He even goes out to do grocery shopping while his father is at work.

Niall respects his father a lot. He could’ve dropped his job and lived off of what Niall had made, living a comfortable yet luxurious life in the more posh areas of Ireland but he didn’t. He remembers clearly when Niall offered to buy him a new house and he blatantly refused, “don’t need your money son. ‘M happy with what I’ve got. And if you’re happy so am I.”

Takes a lot of pride to turn down a mansion, the kind of pride that is laced with humility and hard work. Two attributes Niall picked up from him. Well, at least, he hopes.

Niall goes back to London the following week. Tom had called and said he wanted to move their jam session from Thursday to Monday, which is why he flies home Monday morning. His house is just as he left. Traces of dust sparsely blankets his tables but nothing that he can’t get rid of in a day’s cleaning.

He picks his favorite tobacco burst Paul Gibson and strums the chords, tamping down on the strings that feel like home to him, ground him in his place. He catches a glimpse of the cherry wood instrument Harry had gifted him during the Where We Are Tour. The memory of the little gesture comes flooding in.

“For Christ’s sake, Harry, do I have to blindfold meself?” Niall complains tugging at the bandana tied around his eyes.

He feels arms slip around his waist, a solid body behind him anchoring him to the ground, making the slight dizziness go away. “Shhh,” he whispers in to the shell of his ear, his lips grazing the outside making Niall shiver, “’s a surprise.”

Harry guides him out of the room, gingerly pressed to his side, a hand steady on his waist while the other holding his hand. Once they come to a stop Niall hurries to remove the cloth wrapped around his eyes. Harry swats his hand away pulling the bandana off himself.

“Hi,” he whispers as if they’re not alone in the room.

“Hi,” Niall breathes out. Crazy even after how so many years Harry is still able to takes his breath away.

“Got you something,” he twirls around and picks up the package placed on the bed. It’s a case in the shape of a guitar. Subtle.

Niall opens the box and pulls out a cherry wood electric guitar, running his fingers on the smooth wood and the tight strings. Harry got this for him. The same guitar Niall had ogled over the night before but refused to buy cause of how pricey it was. Didn’t want to seem like a proper diva.

“Harry,” Niall exclaims, looking at the younger boy, “you didn’t have to.”

Harry furrows his brows, looking slightly offended, “I _wanted_ to.”

Niall doesn’t argue because he knows that would mean actually hurting Harry’s feelings and he’s not one to do that. He graciously accepts the present, “Thank you.”

“Now where’s mine?” Harry grins.

“Present? You tosser, were looking for something in return all this time?” Niall pokes his ribcage. His heart hammering in his own chest at the proximity at which they are standing.

“Just a kiss,” Harry says, fisting his hand and bringing it to his lips, “ _andddddd._ ”

“Celebratory blowjobs? Why not? They’re me favorite anyway,” Niall replies closing the little to no distance between and sliding his hand over Harry’s thigh. The brunette shuddering under his touch.

“Are we celebrating our looo _vveeee_?” he says leaning in to meet Niall’s lips hallway. His lips ghosting over Niall’s, “you’re so fuckin’ cheesy styles.” Niall pulls him in, pressing his lips to soft plump ones and licking at the seams.

Harry moves his hands across Niall’s shoulders spanning the wide stretch and coming to rest at the taut muscles of his biceps. Gripping on to it as tightly as possible.

Niall coaxes Harry to open his mouth, licking into it and eliciting a moan out of Harry. “Niall,” he says in his jagged breathing.

A knock on the door breaks Niall out of his reverie, his heart beating the same way it had all that time ago. He shakes his head, patting his chest trying to calm himself from the high of the memory.

\--

Jam sessions go better than planned. They fool around for a bit, write a bit and just talk for a bit. Having no deadlines hanging over their heads give them the freedom to be as relaxed as possible and maybe even testing their creativity.

“Niall, mate, think I’ve hit the rut with this one,” Tom says from where he’s seated on his neon green bean bag.

Niall has a ‘ _please one more try’_ at the tip of his tongue but Gi has him beat, calling out to Tom - something about Buzz and snacks. Tom sighs rolling his eyes, the fond look never leaving his face and mouths an apology as he treks out of the room.

Niall takes the time to himself and strums a few chords tinkering with the original sound, he hits a note that he doesn’t expect so he strums his guitar again for the thing he’s looking for. The strings vibrate under his fingertips, a rocky sound filling the corners of the studio, Niall isn’t even done finishing it when Tom comes running in, “I love it.”

Niall’s head shoots up, a grin in place, “yeah?”

They finish the song in that one sitting, filling in substitute words for lyrics and a proper chorus. It has Niall smiling all night.

They’re just about finished packing away when Tom clears his throat, “So, how are you?”

The question isn’t supposed to be as loaded as it sounds but something has Niall sweating, his hands slipping against the smooth guitar. “Y’know how it is. One day you’re touring and the next you’re writing tunes with ya mate. All’s good,” Niall shrugs.

“Yeah, it’s just you’ve been quiet. Very unlike of you, even have Gi worried, was asking me when I went over to put Buzz to bed.”

Niall doesn’t say anything. “Do you miss ‘em? The boys, I mean.”

“Of course, I do,” Niall says almost defensively, his tone a little louder than intended, “sorry, jus’ haven’t really talked much about it. ‘S all very confusing.”

Niall doesn’t want to look at Tom. He knows he’ll see pity, something which he doesn’t _like_. It’s not that he’s not okay or is proper depressed or something, it’s just everything happened so quickly that he didn’t really get the time for himself. He knows the band ended and he’s fine with it; what he isn’t fine with is what to do with _himself_. It’s like someone put a full stop when there were supposed to be ellipses at the end of the statement. And now he’s stuck.

“Don’t know what to do with meself,” Niall admits, his voice barely audible, “Singing is all I’ve got.”

“Niall,” Tom says, voice heavy with determination making Niall look up, “you can always go solo.”

_Solo_ , Niall thinks. Repeating the word in his head over and over. That wasn’t an option – not for him at least. Sure, Harry and Liam and Zayn could. But him? Who would listen to him? He’s used to be the boy who holds the guitar as a shield and not a weapon. Or has been cited again, and again as one, even if he doesn’t see it.

Niall is lost in thoughts when Tom shakes him lightly, smile reaching his eyes, “you _should_ go solo.”

“Who would listen to me?” Niall voices.

“I would,” Tom replies confidently. “And all the girls who are dying for you to cover a Kooks song.”

Niall can’t help but laugh at that. _He can go solo._

\--

Niall goes over the files needed and information about different record companies over the span of the next four months, still hesitant but now looking. Walking in and out of meetings and talking to friends who are already in the business or affiliated to certain companies. He even goes as far as flying out to LA to meet up with a few writers, building connections and the works. While he’s in LA he tries not to, doesn’t want to be the person who calls Harry first, but he can’t help it. Feels like it’s some kind of moral obligation where he needs to tell the other about his arrival.

The phone rings, each second making Niall antsier and regretful of his decision. He’s not particularly afraid but him and Harry did leave things open ended. His array of thoughts are interrupted when a deep voice answers on the other end, “Hello?”

“Hey,” Niall answers, “just checking in. Was ‘round LA thought I should call you up.” Niall didn’t have to explain himself but something made him feel like he did.

Harry doesn’t say anything, the static being the only sound. Niall goes to drop the call when he hears rustling on the other end, “been a while. Wanna come over, mate?”

“Nah, was jus’ leavin’ anyway. Next time? Pints on me,” Niall replies.  

Maybe it’s better to keep the silence. “Right, next time.” Harry repeats. Voice empty of emotion.

That’s the last time Niall calls Harry while he’s in LA. Or that year.

\--

“Jenny, tell me, how the hell are there so many fuckin’ record companies and why the fuck do they want to sign me?” Niall pouts, resting his face in his hands; elbows rubbing against the table. Okay, he might be slightly drunk and might’ve forgotten his assistant was coming over so he can let her know his final decision. 

“’Cause you’re talented,” she smiles her pretty smile. Her eyes sparkling under the fluorescent lights. They’re this greyish-green shade that has Niall mesmerized. Alright, maybe he’s more than _slightly_ wasted if he’s getting attracted to his well-over 35 assistant who has been around for ages.

Niall leans in, “Jenny, do you ever th-” He is unable to finish his thought when a frazzled Laura Whitmore comes running into his living room. She looks Niall once over, Niall shooting her a sloppy grin, and turns to jenny.

“Hey, love. I’ll be taking care of him.” Jenny nods shoving her iPad into her purse and collecting the files spread across Niall’s coffee table. He’s seated on the floor with Jenny opposite to him, so when she gets up standing everything seems very large. His mind getting a little fuzzy with every word that comes out of Laura’s mouth. Once Jenny leaves Laura crouches down to Niall’s eye-level.

“Heard you were going to sign your soul away. Got here jus’ in time,” she clicks her teeth. Her hair is messily tied into a top-bun and she’s wearing a loose jumper that’s falling off her shoulder. For some who was in a hurry Niall thinks she looks quite put together.

“You look pretty,” Niall blurts out unabashedly.

He swears it’s not him hallucinating but he sees a slight tint to Laura’s cheek, “yeah, Romeo? Let’s get you to bed.”

She pulls Niall up, sneaking arm around his waist and letting him lean against her. “Whitmore, you think we would’ve been friends if…” Niall slurs, his words coming out slow and broken, “ _if_ I wasn’t, like, famous y’know?”

They stop abruptly, Niall falling back a little only to steady himself against the hallway wall. He looks over at Laura ready to ask what the fuck is going on but is surprised to see the hurt in her eyes. “The fuck are you on, Niall? Talking out of your arse.”

Niall doesn’t answer lets Laura take him to his room and help him out of his shoes.

“Think ‘m gonna call Louis and Liam,” Niall says while Laura is untying his trainers.

“Yeah?” she looks up, the hurt replaced by a curious glint.

“Reckon, if anyone is going to launch me as a solo artist it should be me best mates,” he shrugs, slipping under the covers.

Laura turns off the side table lamp and presses a kiss on Niall’s forehead. “Love ya, Whitmore.”

“Love ya too, Horan.”

\--

February 21st, 2012 was when One Direction won their first Brit Award. The ceremony was held in the famous O2 Arena in London. The event was hosted by British comedian James Corden, the main stage being connected to a ramp that gave way to the smaller stage placed in the middle of the sitting space. The number 2012 bolded on the LED screen running the expanse of the main stage, graphics changing in-between speeches and intervals. The silhouette of the award, outlined in the back with led lights running its perimeter, not colored in – unlike the year number. There were, also, geometric shapes scattered across the stage, changing colors according to the performances, or the speaker.

They had never been to an award show before the Brits, and to be attending one of the most prestigious one’s England had to offer was a great feat – not to mention they were running against names like _Adele_ , _Jessie J_ , and another boyband _JLS_.

When they received the phone call informing them of their nomination for best single for ‘What Makes You Beautiful’ they were ecstatic, elated, but most of all surprised. It was unheard of for incoming boybands to have such a spectacular breakthrough and to get the attention they had been receiving from their recent release of their single in the U.S. To be recognized in the UK was one thing but to get the overwhelming reaction from the U.S was mind-boggling. They had charted #4 on _Billboard Top 100_. They had hoped to make the top 100 but never in their wildest dreams had they imagined to be in the _Top 10_. But they were.

Niall remembers arriving on the red carpet dressed in different shades of grey; from light to dark. They had all opted for suits, or were advised to by their stylists, that gave off their personality. He wasn’t too sure how a dark grey blazer with jet black collars, the lining of the pockets the same color, a crisp white button-up underneath, showed who he _was_. But at that point of time he wasn’t too stressed about what he wore and what he came off as, the only thought revolving in his mind was of the possibility of winning an award.

One thing he does remember, the slight sting he felt when they had put on their suits and gathered in the single make-up/dressing room they had at that point, was how Louis and Harry matched. Harry’s blazer and pants a shade darker than Louis’, his bowtie the color of Louis’ button-up. The color of Harry’s shirt matched the collar of Louis’. Niall didn’t understand what it was, or what their team was trying to achieve, even the slightest of moves amplifying, but they _all_ had read the rumors yet it almost seemed like they were igniting them. Adding fuel to a fire that could’ve been put out. He was 18 then. Eighteen years old don’t get to say much. Even when they’re winning awards and making more money than the average. It’s funny, despite the change in class, the disadvantages that are inherently attached to oneself don’t just disappear. Like Zayn’s skin color, or Liam’s insecurities, and Louis’ and Harry’s broken families. They stick.

When they were called on to collect their award he remembers jumping to his feet in excitement, reaching out and trying to cling on to the other boys, like they were some sort of lifeline. Remembers waiting for Harry to finish hugging some executive, then turning and grinning, a wide dimpled smile that would become a Harry Styles Trademark. The younger boy had gripped onto Niall’s shoulder just as tightly, letting their bodies reverberate in excitement and joy and _happiness_.

That was the first time Niall thought forever was a word he could use too. Especially after looking at the light in Zayn’s eyes, and the pull in Liam’s hug. He thought, maybe, Louis will always be the one starting off the speeches, preening under the applause and clicking his teeth under his breath. Maybe the room filled with names that meant something would welcome them with open arms.

After the award ceremony, and the after party, at which all of them got pleasantly buzzed, they headed home. Packing in the back seats of a black SUV, limbs everywhere and the smell of alcohol and sweat drenched cologne filled the vehicle. Niall liked the smell. Made him feel grounded and alive; it was _their_ smell. They were laughing too loud, tearing up a little, and talking a bit too fast.

He’s sitting in between Harry and Louis with Zayn, Liam and Lou in the back. She’s fixated on her phone, the tiny screen lighting up her face, meanwhile Liam is laughing at something Zayn had said as Louis reaches back to slap his head. It’s a mess.

“Louieeeee,” Harry drawled from Niall’s side, pulling onto the quarters of Louis’ blazer that he refuses to take off. The curly haired lad’s scent of perfume wafting in Niall’s face. He could see the perspiration lining his forehead, and the pit stains diffusing through his white shirt. Niall couldn’t help but smile thinking that this is the boy the girls on the outside deem _perfect_. He is just another boy. A regular old boy.

They arrived at their apartment complex a little after 2 a.m. the air still heavy with mist, a chill that makes Zayn shiver. He forgot to bring a jacket. Niall is about to take his own off to offer when he sees Liam offer his. Zayn accepts it graciously, his eyes twinkling even in the dark of the night, Liam’s eyes crinkling. And Niall thinks why it’s Louis and Harry who’ve blown the news when sometimes it’s Liam and Zayn who share these looks, looks that are far too intimate for friends he believes, makes him feel like he’s invading someone’s privacy. Knows it’s nothing, but.

Niall stumbles into the lift, cramming in the space next to Zayn, staring at the ceiling as the burnt orange number changes from 1 to 2 to 3 to 4. It’s Liam and Zayn’s floor. They get off after hugging everyone and make their way to their individual flats. Next up is Niall’s floor. The lift dings alerting them of his departure, he turns to find Harry slumped against the wall of the lift. He giggles reaching out, “Can I talk to you, Haz?”

Harry tilts his head in confusion and Louis moves forward to make his way out of the lift when Niall speaks up again, “ _alone._ ”

Louis narrows his eyes at them and Harry shakes his head at the older boy, patting his cheek and letting him know that he’ll be back upstairs in a quickie. They exit into the hallway following the little corridor to Niall’s room. He unlocks it easily, not as drunk as he had thought he was, and turns on the light once he’s inside.

“what ya wanna talk abo’?” Harry asks, his words slurred and his voice throaty. The kind it gets after vocal sessions on vocal sessions.

“Da sent me a present for the nomination. Had something for you too,” Niall says from where he is in his room, coming back outside with a small thread bracelet. “Me cousin made it for you and I. Said it was a good luck charm or somewhat.”

Harry spots Niall wearing an identical one, it peeking out from under his cuffed shirt. Niall places it on Harry’s open palm and smiles at him and for a millisecond he sees a flicker. Something estrange from his usual mischievous glint that has a beholden over his eyes. He sees _fondness_.

‘Thanks, tell her I send my love.”

“Will do,” Niall replies, flashing a toothy grin Harry’s way.

\--

Niall jolts awake to the sound of his bedside alarm screeching a tune he doesn’t remember setting it to. He finds a bottle of paracetamol and a glass of lidded water on his side table, a small note pressed on the medicine.

_drug up horan the lic are getting together tonite!_

The writing is alarmingly familiar. Laura. He pushes off the comforter, dropping his legs to the hardwood floor, as he rubs his temples. The headache isn’t too bad just a subdued pain on the front of his forehead. It could be worse. He washes down the tablet – two he made sure – with the water and treks his way to the closet.

The sliding doors creak open, he makes a mental note to oil the sliders so they won’t scream at him every time he opens them. The array of solid tees, patterned button ups and stripes are hanging in an orderly manner. They seem to blur together leaving him close to none options, he closes the door shut and marches out of the room. The little hallway leads to the door of the basement which holds two rooms, Niall’s recently furnished studio and the ‘ _extra_ ’ closet. He doesn’t want to come off as a diva but in reality it’s a space he’s been using to store away things that he doesn’t use anymore or winter clothes etc. He finds the suitcase he had tucked away last year after finally deciding he won’t be reusing those clothes for a _while_. Clothes that served as a reminder, shirts that had the smell of the tour bus embedded into them, jeans that were snagged at the bottom or even clothes that were just _too_ much.

He unzips the burly case scanning through the piles of shirts when he comes across a baseball tee. He pulls it by the end of the faded yellow sleeves the color drained from the constant wash. Cracks running through the word ‘ _Eagles_ ’ marking the wear and tear of the material. He always took pride in calling it his favorite, lounged around in it most Sundays, but somehow it stopped. Most things did. Never saw the full stop coming until it did and then questioning it was out of hand.

He brings the clothing to his nose, inhaling the scent, it smells like fabric softener with a mix of an aftershave Niall had nicked off of Zayn. He remembers it clear as day when the raven haired boy had walked in, wafting the room with this sweet honey-like smell that Niall had to get his hands on.

Zayn had chased after him saying it was a present but Niall refused to return it. Eventually, the older boy gave up, saying his mum will buy him another one. Niall still has the half empty bottle of aftershave neatly stored away in his dresser. Niall’s weird like that sometimes attaches memories to objects just so he can physically put them away.

He wears the shirt out. Doesn’t think about how it’s truly vintage in all its essence with the faded sleeves and logo. Doesn’t think about how just like the shirt a certain someone is fading out his life. So, he wears the shirt. Holding onto the traces of memories that may have folded themselves into the crease of the neck, the thread escaping from the seams, or even the small stain that might as well be visible to the naked eye.

When Laura catches his eye seated in a bar stool weighing a martini in her pretty, delicate hands, Niall realizes something. She’s looking at him with disbelief and a slight frown, her lips almost, but not quite, turning downwards. He smiles at her across the bar, across the throng of people standing in their way, he smiles. It must be like kick-starting an engine cause one second she’s a good few feet away and the next her arms are encircling around his neck.

“Think I know who’s gonna launch me,” he breathes in to the hug. Remembering his drunken inklings.

\--

Niall receives the call on an average Monday morning, nothing unusual about the day or the weather – its sunny side up in Hertfordshire unlike its typical gray looming clouds that teeter between rain and a muggy air. Been a pleasant October so far especially with the fall colors blending into the greens and bright pinks of the summer; flowers and leaves now rusty. Niall doesn’t ponder over the fact of how every leaf does its cycle like a responsibility and gives way to death in the form deadbeat browns and sometimes a murky gray.

His iPhone buzzes on the granite countertop of the island ringing the classic marimba, diverting Niall’s attention from the contract Republic Records had sent over earlier that morning – fine print Times New Roman listing down contractual obligations if he chooses to be launched under them.

He slides the home screen padding the speaker icon and goes back to the file in front of him not even looking to check who called in the first place. A rustling sound comes through along with heavy breathing as if the person on the other end had finished running a mile and calling Niall was their first thought.

“Niall?” It’s Greg, the lilting Irish accent igniting a homesickness he had long subsided.

Niall picks up the phone bringing it to the shell of his ear, careful to turn off the speaker first, “yeah?”

Uncharacteristically his brother pauses, something he’s not known for – always the blabber mouth of the two – and starts again. This time quieter, _softer_ than before, “Bobby’s in the hospital.”

There’s a pang in his chest that amplifies in relation to Greg’s voice which shrouds under the deafening buzz of his ears. He knows his name is being called, that he is supposed to answer back, but his only reaction, or no reaction, is to stay cemented to the marble tiles that have a yellowish tint to them now – no longer spanking white like they once were.

Niall exits the call without a formal goodbye blinking the tears out of his eyes, hesitant to let them fall. Nutters how he’d assumed it’s going to be okay as long as Bobby was around as long as the firm grip on his shoulder was renewed every visit home. _Home_.

Niall stride’s out of the room to the front door grabbing the set of keys to his range rover, and wallet, and walks out of the house. The drive to the airport is tedious. The Monday morning traffic serving no help to his cause to get to Stansted. Thank fully, there isn’t much rush at the ticketing when he arrives, buys a one-way ticket economy class – cause that’s all they had available – and settles into the boarding room.

The flight boards on time, the passengers filing in with ease, no rush. Unware of the cold sweats forming on Niall’s palms making it harder to breathe or to think. He tries to calm himself down looking up pictures of Theo, even listening over the piece he had worked on with Tom the other day. Doesn’t help. His phone buzzes again. He tries to ignore it scrambling to find the airplane mode when an unexpected name brightens his screen.

He picks up. “Belle is a proper menace. Won’t suck on her dummies while her mum and I try to figure out what Cerelac would be best for her and Fred. Help.”

Niall smiles to himself forgetting the niggling thought that is eating him away, “take deep breaths Tomlinson.”

And Louis does. His breathing evening out before he speaks up again, “how much longer till it’s acceptable to file for solitude and confinement?”

“Never if you’re father to toddlers. The wee children didn’t ask for a knob of a pa anyway,” Niall laughs, the breath he had been holding in releases, ridding his lungs of the phantom weight.

“Always the bright one aren’t you, Nialler? Thanks, needed it.”

“Oh, and Wheat with Milk,” Niall adds as an afterthought.

Louis hangs without saying bye. And Niall feels as if the impromptu phone call might’ve benefitted him more than his floppy haired friend intended. Weirdly enough the plane doesn’t appear as small as he had psyched himself out it to be. Funny how things work. A call from an old friend is what it takes to clear his head.

The plane lands in Dublin late afternoon around 4ish. His flight had been pleasant not many people recognizing him. Don’t know why they didn’t take economy class before but then it hits him, how the piercing screams from the outside of the airport were enough to send cold shivers down his body. Triggering the once latent claustrophobia. A particular memory comes to his mind as he seats himself into the borrowed Nissan Qashqai. It’s an SUV with tinted windows. Thankfully, it easily blends among the other several Nissans driving along Route N4 to Mullingar. At the speed limit given of about 100 km/hr it should take him give or take an hour and a half to get home.

He didn’t catch any traffic at the airport so he hopes it’s the same on the national highway. Tries to block out the memory of himself falling face flat to the ground because of the crowded exit at the LAX airport a couple years back.

America was always their biggest market in business terms. Surprisingly enough they were also the ones that wildly (and that’s humbly putting it) welcomed them at any airport they arrived at. It was November 2013 he thinks when it got real bad for the first time.

Blinding lights and the constant clicking of the camera shutters were some sights and sounds he had memorized over the years but he never thought the same things would catch him off-guard.

They had treaded out the automatic doors, in their synchronized routine. Zayn first, then Harry, then Niall, Louis and Liam. Bodyguards around each boy to protect them from grabby hands and insistent paparazzi. To this day he doesn’t know what went wrong with their routine formation but somewhere along the paved pathway and clutter of screaming bodies Niall found himself being dragged. What he does remember is seeing a cameraman instead of an overzealous fan, shouting at him ‘heard you guys are breaking up’ the words fast and choppy but intently meaningful. Niall had turned a smidge to step on any rising rumors but, alas, luck wasn’t on his side and he landed on the cement block.

Thankfully, he only incurred minor injuries, a small gash on his chin that was fixed up after immediate first aid. But that wasn’t even the terrifying part.

It was getting trampled beneath hundreds of people and his voice, call for help, being deluged in the sea of wails and sirens was what scared him. Stifled by the heavy air formed due to the throng of people surrounding him. He should’ve blacked out or gone into a one of his panic attacks but what stopped all of that was a firm hand coming to his shoulder, pulling him by his jumper and bringing him to his feet. The same hand patting his cheek, cold fingers numb against the idle – possibly – swollen flesh.

“You okay?” Zayn asked, the steadiness in his voice grounded Niall, snapping him out his daze. He could see the amber eyes ablaze from anger and something else. _Disgust_.

Niall faintly nodded still a little dizzy. Paul came behind him, as Zayn disappeared after the pap who had instigated the entire thing, guiding him to the black range rover parked on the side curb, a hand securely pulling him into a hug. He remembers breathing in a musky scent and lining his nose against the suede jacket.

“’m sorry, babe.”

\--

Niall arrives at Midland Regional Hospital sometime around 6:30 making a small pit stop to get some petrol. The sky is teetering on the edge of orange hues and yellow streaks as the giant star ducks under the horizon. The wind is still with no cloud in sight, a splatter of garish colors expanding across the canvas above his head. He stands motionless trying to grapple with the reality of how the sky works, of how every color intricately binds itself to another, of how the fluffy clouds look down at him and everyone else. Most people take the infinite expanse as a threat but to Niall it's comforting. He doesn't think the unknown is dark and unsettling; thinks it's nice to have some definition; thinks it's the only fixed point that he can fall on. The infinite space.

 

He shakes himself out of his long going existential crisis moving towards the glass doors.

 

He is greeted at the front desk by a dour receptionist who barely acknowledges him. Prompting him to cough lightly to divert her attention from _50 ways to be successful on your first date_ to himself. She sighs, pushing down her round bright red glasses, “can I help you?”

 

Niall nods. “Me Da was admitted here. Think yesterday? Need to see him. Names Bobby Horan,” urgency dripping with every word.

 

She rolls her eyes not trying to be subtle, “did you not read the visiting hours? Time’s up kid. Come see your pops tomorrow.”

 

Niall has never been one to raise his voice at someone, always calm and cool, but this woman is pushing him to the edge. Grinding his gears in the worst way possible.

 

'Listen,' he reads the name off her tag, 'Aibrean, 'm proper knackered. Flew from London to Dublin and drove down to Westmeath cause me Da is in the hospital. My patience is wearing thin and you're not helping it. Could you kindly direct me to his room?'

 

Just as he finishes his spiel a small nurse with greying hair strolls over to the front desk, a clipboard in hand. “Niall,” she gasps. It’s like the name clicks the puzzle together because Aibrean looks back at him, _properly_ this time and gulps, “Mr. Horan, my sincere apologies. Your father is in room 308 left wing. You can take the lift behind ya or the staircase on the left down that hallway,” she points at the carpeted hallway leading to a waiting room.

 

Niall feels a pang of guilt. Doesn’t like how his celebrity status earned him the hospitable treatment any worried son deserves but he looks over it. Thinks he has more pressing matters at hand.

 

He swirls around stopping in his steps to turn back to the nurse, “thanks.”

 

Finding the room itself isn't too hard especially cause it's straight down the third floor hallway. Rooms on rooms occupied by patients present due to their respective illness. He can't even bring himself to recall what _exactly_ his father was admitted for. The word ' _hospital’_ ' numbing enough to have him rush home. Probably should call Greg and apologize but Niall can't give an arse about proper etiquettes right about now.

 

He lays his palm flat against the oak door, the blinds shut hindering the view of the room. He takes in a deep breath steadying himself for whatever it is he'll see inside. Drips and IV’s and oxygen mask. He’s been here once before. Doesn’t ever wanna go back. Didn’t think he would have to.

 

The door glides open. Bobby is on the bed eyes closed sleeping away. He was right. There are IV’s and needles injected into his skin but no oxygen masks. Can see the faint dark circles under his eyes from where he is standing at the foot of his bed. His breathing is stable and from what Niall can tell the heart rate screen looks good too. He sighs in relief.

 

The room is dimly lighted probably for Bobby's sake. Gives it a warm affect making Niall's eyelids heavy - now that he's here with _his_ father he feels the exhaustion setting in. His limbs feel heavy and muscles achy. He trudges toward the stool placed on the side of his Da's bed. He sits on the chair, taking his dad's idle hand into his own, clasping the palms together. Their palms are about the same size, Niall's slightly bigger. He thinks back to the time when his little hand would barely line against his father wrist. The tiny fingers splaying midway across his father's palm.

 

Unlike most kids, most boys, he wasn't a mummy's boy. His parents divorced when he was a wee little kid, unaware and naïve to what a broken home entailed. Thought Da and Ma were just _Da and Ma_. They still are. But growing up he was far more enchanted with Bobby than anyone else. Would totter after him, the sole of his feet tamping down the dreary carpet of their small house. The sand carpet that still runs down the hallway into the living room.

 

Niall falls asleep with his head at the corner of the small bed. Hands clasped tightly around the man he admires the most.

 

Gastroesophageal reflux is what has Bobby in the hospital. the doctors inform Niall the next morning when he's having breakfast with Bobby and gives him a prescription of anti-acid to neutralize the acid building up in his stomach with a basic counterpart.

 

"'s all the greasy food ya eat. Gotta stop having them barbecues, Da" Niall says, chewing on the blueberry scone he had bought from the cafeteria. It tastes stale, crumpling into powder unlike the pristine one's Sarah use to make.

 

“Bloody cunts gonna have me eat them boiled greens or what. Can’t have a proper meal for Christ sake,” he complains chortling, a bit. He’s been advised to cut down on his _adventurous_ diet and start eating healthy. Obviously it's not setting well with him.

 

“Eejits all of 'em” Niall cackles, raising a carrot stick as a sword of sorts.

 

“You’re having a right time with this, aren't ya?'

 

Niall stops. Thinks about how he hasn't laughed like this in months. “Don’t go all emotional on me Da. Know what you're trying to get at.”

 

"'s nice seeing ya round," Bobby admits. Probably the first time since Niall for the Where We Are tour.

 

Niall hums in acknowledgement letting the sentiment die down to the crunch of the carrots. He’ll have to do some grocery shopping for his father.

 

\--

Sorting through his childhood house is less tedious, Niall realizes, than he had initially thought. So far he’s managed to find small knick knacks he had treasured as a child, the children-sized mic and keyboard he use to play in kindergarten and the once camo, mix of browns and greens, blanched due to age. He rubs at the seams of the jacket that he remembers he used one too many times, running about the house with Darragh and Sean on his tail.

Sean and Darragh. How long had it been since he last saw them? Last year? No, he for sure knows he saw Darragh during his 21st. Hasn’t seen Sean since his 20th, think it was when This Is Us was released and they went out. Or was it when he went to New York? His memory betraying him, something it isn’t known for. He sighs, folding the little uniform like he had originally found it and puts it away into one of the cardboard boxes labelled neatly in his Da’s handwriting. _Niall_.

He rubs his palms together, the dust on the surface of his skin making them stiff and coarse, he gets off the floor looking about the room to see if there was anything else he had to put away when he finds it. A small black box covered in felt poking out from behind the stack of tan boxes. Niall crouches down pulling it slowly, making sure he doesn’t tip over the mini tower or else he’d be damaging one too memories, and examines it. It’s cylindrical with a long neck and concaving towards the belly of the case, giving it an almost look. He stares it a bit looking at the film of dust covering it and wonders if he every invested in a ukulele or a violin. But what throws him off is the shape which looks nothing like a small instrument. Maybe a flute? But even those don’t round out at the end.

He tilts his head to prod the lock open, the small gold colored constraint flipping up and allowing Niall to search the contents of the box. It’s a telescope. A brand new refractor telescope. He reaches down brushing his fingers over the stainless black metal thinking how did a telescope get here? In his dad’s basement. As far as he remembers Greg hadn’t ever been interested in space, or the sky, so it couldn’t be his. It most definitely isn’t Niall’s.

“What ya’ doing?” Bobby’s voice surprises him causing him to fall backwards on his bum. He blinks out the suspended dust particles from his eyes and turns to his father – guilt washing over him as if he’s been caught sneaking out or something. The teenage rush and anxiousness he never really got to experience.

“Da,” Niall croaks, “jus’ looking around. Denise rang saying she was wondering if ya had found the jumper she asked for.”

Lying was never his strong suit, always preferred staying quiet rather than concocting some elaborate lie that was bound to blow up in his face; Louis was proper good at those. An expert if anything.

Bobby is quiet, his eyes soft and tired – mostly tired. The doctor had told him bed rest was necessary for a week or so, but to Bobby Horan that was the equivalent to being locked up into solitude. He was a man who was always running, strolling around on the same two feet that had managed to bring up Niall and Greg and maintain a job. He had a reputation you see. The kind Niall wishes to have someday. The man was living life to the fullest not wasting a day to the likes of laziness and age. Naturally, it’s only acceptable if he’s grown tired of the same white sheets and brick-lined building view after this past week.

“Bought that for ya on your 19th. Thought you’d proper like it with all them fancy lens and gadgets.”

Niall shakes head. It’s like he has missed something and he can’t seem to grapple with the things right before him. A snap of his fingers is all it takes, and he feels like he’s 18 – going on 19 – again. Remembers prancing around the hall being decorated for his birthday celebrations a buzz in his veins, his Da seated on one of them round tables cradling a cuppa, and he thinks how the lavishness seems to fall pale in comparison to what is before him.

He digs his fingers into the space between the telescope and the edge of the cavity it’s resting in. Niall lifts the lens, careful not to smear the glass with his imprint, and takes the toy out of its box. Feels like Christmas again. He hasn’t gotten many proper present since One Direction happened.

“Why didn’t ya give it to me?” he asks softly.

“Your Ma said she’d gotten you a proper present with Chris. Said I could always give ya something later,” he says, leaning against the door hinge. He’s wearing a grey jumper with cotton pajamas. Isn’t too cold yet but never too early to start wearing jumpers in the Emerald Isle.

“Would’ve liked it,” Niall admits.

“I know,” Bobby says, “I think I know me own son.”

Niall bites back a laugh, his body shuddering a little as he inspects his new toy. “Niall,” Bobby starts again, “what are you doing here, son?”

The directness in his tone is staggering. His knee gives an annoyed twinge reminding him that he’s been in the same position for far too long; it’s time to get up. He pushes himself to his feet the prick of pain just a familiar sensation, the telescope again lying flat.

Niall jokes, “thought you liked having me here. Already trying to get rid of me?” the joke falls flat to the resounding silence making him uneasy and restless.

When Niall doesn’t answer straightforwardly Bobby takes it upon himself, steps down and approaches Niall, soft thuds against the wooden floor. “Think you and I both know what I mean by that, lad”

“What has you worried?”

“Nothing, Da. Jus’ here to help out until you get better,” Niall says, honestly. Because he is. He is in Ireland so he can be around Bobby and possibly take care of him, something God knows Greg isn’t going to do.

Bobby sighs, resigns into himself without leaving Niall’s line of vision, “it’s okay if you want to do it. You’re doing it for _yourself_ and me Mam’s sake they’re gonna love ya. Adore ya to bits. Jus’ as they do now.”

Niall has no recollection of mentioning anything to his father. But knowing that he knows, that he’s keeping an eye on him releases an unearthly weight off of him. Always to be the one who understood, didn’t really have the luxury to demand things, go about asking and ignoring complains coming his way. Takes a lot to be the person who’s a constant. The unchanging condition that’s part of every turn, everyway. He launches forward and presses himself into Bobby’s arm, burying his head in his father’s neck. Hug number 2.

“Sometimes it’s easy to forget...” Niall trails off, afraid to finish for his own sake. So Bobby continues for him, thinks it’s a long time coming, “I miss you too, Lad. Always missing you. _Always_ here for you.”

Next morning, Niall acquiesces into ringing Sean. The lad picks up three tones in, his voice groggy with sleep, “ello.”

“Sean, mate,‘s Niall here,” Niall stutters into the speaker, lazily spreading the butter already splayed out on his toast. It’s a distraction, of course.

“Niall?” Sean says, surprise lacing his words, “hey, mate. Long time no see.”

Niall relaxes a little sensing the amnesty and carries on, “Nutters, innit? Was ‘round town wondering if ya wanna grab a pint?”

He holds his breath ready for the disappointing dismissal, “Sick. Sure, meet at half eight at Danny’s?”

Niall nods forgetting he’s on the phone. “Yeah, see ya then.”

\--

Danny’s pub hasn’t changed a bit since he last visited back in 2012. The red mood lighting with lamps and lanterns scattered across the bar, the stained glass shades reflecting a multitude of different colors – ranging from greens to blues to yellows – the cobblestone pathway bordered with hardwood flooring. The cottage like feel with a wooden roof and burgundy curtains draped alongside the entrance wall gave it a homier feeling, made it cozy. Comfortable.

The small stage setup for local bands and one-man/woman acts is still there, in fact, once Niall enters his booth he can spot a bony looking girl with straight brown hair and bright grey eyes is seated on a stool. She has a ukulele in hand and is adjusting the mic to winch it up to her mouth. She’s one of those inordinately beautiful people who are sort of unconventional. Often overlooked because their beauty doesn’t make a direct impact instead it takes time to get used to, minutes, days, months, to settle into. He leans forward, resting his chin on his palm, as she tweaks her strings and the tuners.

Sean arrives halfway into her first song apologies racing out of his tongue as he slots himself opposite to Niall, “Mate, ‘m sorry. Mia had me run errands and it took too long and then I got stuck in traffic.”

“Sure look it,” Niall laughs, thumbing the rim of the beer he had ordered when he first got in. It’s warmed up a bit.

Sean smiles easily and they get lost in conversation, talking about Sean’s work, his girlfriend, derby and the inevitable topic of the century: Niall’s work.

“Six months into the split, no? How’s it feeling?” Sean asks, not a hint of prodding.

Niall thinks how wants to answer, go the roundabout way or, “weird.”

“Weird?” Sean arches an eyebrow in confusion.

“Yeah. Feel like me life ‘s jus’ in a stagnant phase, y’know? Don’t know what to do,” Niall spills, the words pooling out of its margins. “But, like, there is this thing.” He hasn’t seen Sean in a while, now remembers the last time he saw him was when the boys flew him out for his 20th birthday party. Though the security that comes along with a childhood friend is that _they stay_. Or so he hopes.

 

Sean takes a swig out of his own bottle, eyes now trained on Amelia, the brown haired bird on stage, and says, “Remember when you sang all by yourself on that stage? What was that song again?”

“Little things,” Niall supplies dutifully.

“Little things. Yeah. You were proper good. I remember thinking that if the band ended, whatever the reason might be, you’d be fine. Because unlike most people our age you know.” He turns to look at him tenderly, “Niall, you always knew.”

Niall gulps down the tremble in his voice, “what if I don’t?”

“Then I’m not looking at my best friend right now,” Sean finishes calmly. Amelia finishes her set, bowing and preening under the 20 something claps, a blinding smile adorning her face. She’s beautiful, feather-like delicate. Niall wonders if she aspires to be an artist, one of those Ed Sheeran-esque types and is just looking for a clean break.

“Pretty, ain’t she?” Sean smirks, nudging Niall’s foot with his own. “’s our age. Bet she’d love to get to know Mullingar’s very own Keith Richards.”

Niall scoffs, almost comically, “Keith Richard, Jesus, don’t stoop a bloody icon to me level. It’s shameful.”

“Whatever, you say, Nialler. Don’t think either of you would mind a shag.”

Niall laughs, tossing chips in Sean’s direction and missing by a hair. “Wanker.”

They leave the bar a little before midnight, having gotten lost in catching up and making new plans time just slipped, jackets tight against their chests. Niall opted to wear one of his navy blue bombers and Sean is sporting one of those typical North Face’s. A world’s apart yet connected at heart.

“’S chilly,” Sean notes. Niall hums in agreement digging his finger deep into his pockets, grazing the lint that inhabit the space. Funny how even the smallest and most meaningless things _belong_ somewhere. He thinks if he’ll feel like that again. Like he belongs.

“Alright, laddy, I’m gonna turn in. Mia must be waiting,” Sean pushes forward in to a hug. “Come round more. Westmeath misses you.”  


Niall pats his back and pulls back, “tell ya girlfriend she found a knob to date.”

“Yeah? Better worry about ya own prick ya tosser, Richards,” Sean laughs. “Coulda totally gotten with the pretty bird in there.”

“Yeah, well, Richard ain’t shite without Mick by his side,” Niall slips out almost regretfully. Woefully curling into himself upon realization of the weight behind his words.

“Ni...” Sean starts but Niall waves him off. “Alright. See ya soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees, meaning it. Sean turns to trek down to his car parked a little way down the road when Niall calls out, “Sean!”

The ever-so-familiar face turns to face him, “Thanks, mate.”

“Always,” Sean smiles.

\--

They’re in Miami for one of their Take Me Home tour concerts. Swimming about and playing in the pool. Niall and Harry are playing the game of chicken with the band and win with ease, Niall on Harry’s shoulder pushing Josh off as Harry grips onto his thighs, his fingers kneading into his skin. Niall’s all too aware of how close they are, how his dick is lined up against the back of Harry’s head, how the younger boy is grinning wildly at their inevitable victory.

It’s famously known that no one can win a game against Louis and Zayn because they are so tactical but with Niall and Harry it’s just unfair because they’re in-sync more times than not. Pairing them off always ends miserably for everyone else but them of course.

They swim for a bit and soon the pool is crowding, people joining them in the pool or just leisurely laying on the sun chairs, children sprinting across the perimeter of the pool. Safe to say it’s time to call it a day.

“Walk back to the room with me?” Harry says, inching closer to where Niall is standing, drying off his wet hair.

Niall shakes his head, smiling, “Gonna get us in trouble, Haz.”

Harry pouts, sighing understandably, and trudges his mopey self out the door with Josh in tow. Niall takes his time to soak in the last of the sun, taking his sunscreen, shirt lying on the chair, and sunglasses and tossing them into his small drawstring bag.

Basil guides him out the front door, deafening scream of girls ringing in his ears as they get into the lift, “Brutal.”

Basil chuckles and the elevator dings open to his floor which he knows is booked for the entirety of One Direction’s team so no chance of running into fans here. He says his goodbyes to Bas and walks towards his room, but something has him stopping in front of Harry’s door first.

The knuckles of his fist rasp against the solid door, once. Twice. A disoriented Harry opens the door, his curls wet, and loose, hanging in his face as he hurries to a tie towel around his waist. “Hey,” he breaths more sensually than Niall’s sure he intended but it sends Niall stirring. “Just finished showering.”

Niall gulps down the saliva building up in his mouth, “Jus’. Yeah.”

They stand there staring at each other for what seems like an eternity before Harry is pulling Niall in, “Soz, hi.”

“What’s up?” Niall blinks. Harry’s too far and Niall’s fingers are itching and the towel is hanging too low on his hips and this is cruel. No one should look this inviting.

“So, like, I know we said we’d be careful on tour,” Niall starts walking towards Harry. Instinctively, the other boy takes a step back running into the dresser protruding a little, “Fuck.”

“Yes,” Niall agrees, stifling a chuckle.

“Now?” Harry looks surprised but happy and eager.

“Now,” Niall confirms.

“Ok,” Harry whips off the towel he had been desperately holding onto. Or maybe it was just barely there. Niall can’t be arsed to think when he is more pressing matters to get to.

They inch closer, Niall acutely aware of Harry’s nakedness, and that does it. He doubles over laughing, mock horror replacing Harry’s previously jovial expression, “Niall!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, you’re naked. Like butt naked and you did that whipping thing with the towel!” Niall says in-between his little puffs of laughter no longer able to control it. Harry grunts, picking up the towel from the floor and wrapping it around his waist tightly. He stomps over to his closet looking around for clothes while muttering profanities Niall’s way. Niall spills over his own sorry’s but Harry’s busy finding a pair of jeans and his holey plaid shirt with the cut-off sleeves.

Niall ambles softly behind Harry, putting his hands on his hips as he straightens up. He presses a kiss onto his bare shoulder, “sorry, babe.”  


Harry huffs, “no, please, you find my nudity quite comical. Don’t babe me.”

“But baaaaaaaaaaabe,” Niall drawls, pressing another kiss to his shoulder. And another, and another, and then peppering his way to his neck. “Harry,”

He can feel Harry’s breath hitch up under his touch, can only imagine the pink spattering against his own chest. His cheeks. “Not fair. I hate you,” Harry complains.

“You don’t,” Niall pauses to say, doesn’t the second half of it almost as a testament.

“I don’t,” Harry adds softly. Gingerly. As if the words will go loose and won’t reach Niall.

He turns into him, facing Niall now. Biting his lip down as he looks at Niall’s lips and Niall’s inching forward, Harry closing the gap as they sigh into a kiss.

Harry presses himself flush against Niall’s chest, closing the gaps between them like any space is too much space. Niall cups his jaw, licking the seams of his lips coaxing his mouth open. Niall steadied himself by gripping his bicep with his free hand, as Harry gently guides them to the bed, pushing them on the floppy mattress desperately trying not to break contact.

 

Niall pulls back breathless, Harry’s towel long gone as he hovers over Niall, “Take them off.”

 

Niall yanks of his tank top while Harry works with his shorts pulling them down along with his boxers.

 

“Do you think if I we are loud enough Louis will hear us?” Niall chuckles breathlessly. “If you fuck me like you did two weekends ago the whole hotel might,” Harry grins, it's big and wide and still so innocent. Niall reaches forward, Harry leaning into the touch, and grazes his cheek pulling him closer.

 

He kisses him square on the mouth, slow, and lazy, running his hand over the span of Harry’s back. Harry crowds into him sitting straight on Niall’s lap with his body leaning into the kiss, a hand on his neck with his thumb rubbing circles at the base of his neck. The other hand fiddling up and down his chest.

 

Harry pulls back suddenly, looking frazzled. Niall feels his solid weight and he wants to skin into the pillows and never leave. “What?” he asks, anyway.

 

“We need candles,” Harry supplies, gesturing at the room and the lack of scented candles on fire. He moves to leave but Niall grips onto his wrist pulling him back, kissing the corner of his mouth, “Christ. Let me.”

 

He hops off the bed and makes way to the dresser where two of them are sitting, takes the lighter beside them and lights them. Looks over his shoulder to find Harry fondly looking at him, “What now?”

 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head smiling, a fond look in his eyes. He bounds up Harry’s way and climbs on top of him, “Hi.”

 

“Hello,” Harry sing-songs.

 

Niall ducks kissing Harry’s collarbones, then the hollow where they meet, kisses the top of the butterfly, softly but surely, squeezing Harry’s love handles with one hand. Harry catches his breath, managing out words incoherent to anyone but Niall. He picks off the bottle of lube on the side table with one hand all the while kissing Harry’s jaw. He barely pulls back, sliding the cap off and squeezing some of the gel-like liquid onto his palms.

 

“Ready?” Niall asks cautiously.

 

“Born,” Harry tries but Niall swallows the ‘ready’ with his mouth, licking in too deep. Wraps his hand around the base of Harry’s cock, gently stroking it at first, earning a rightful groan out of Harry. He breaks the kiss, “Cold. Hands are cold.”

 

“Oh fuck off,” Niall smiles into another kiss, Harry shakily arches forward into Niall’s chest, not breaking the kiss, Niall’s hand finding a rhythm. Niall jacks him off, hand sliding up and down steadily, eliciting groans out of Harry. His own dick half-hard at sound of Harry’s moans.

 

“Close,” Harry says in-between kisses. Niall can feel Harry trembling under his touch and its soft, the little moans in-between gasps as Niall wanks him.

 

Harry pushes forward, licking into Niall’s mouth his tongue deep, causing Niall to groan. White liquid sputters onto Niall’s palms as he settles down from his high leaning back against the headboard pulling Niall with him. he pulls away, happily, breathless, “My turn to return the favor.”

 

Niall happily rolls onto his back, Harry hovering above him. He steals a quick kiss before tracing little kisses onto Niall’s chest, and then his hip bones. Sucking on the skin there and leaving behind a blossoming blue bruise.

 

He looks up to meet Niall’s eyes like asking for permission. Niall nods, confidentially. Harry licks the head, tongue rolling over the pre-come before taking Niall in. “Harry,” Niall gaps, arching his back and resting his weight on his elbows.

 

It’s around 9:00 that they get to bed, exchanging soft kisses, Harry’s mouth still brightly swollen. Niall thumbs his lips as Harry talks, “we could go to Chile. Or Prague? How about Prague?”

 

“Anywhere you want, babe,” Niall says truthfully.

 

“Hey, Niall?” Harry says faintly.

 

Niall can't muster to keep himself awake, falling asleep before Harry can get out the words. The other boy turns his back to him, pressing into his chest as Niall puts a leg over his. Hand around his waist.

 

“I think I'm falling for you,” Harry says to no one in particular. Maybe the darkness that swallows the confession.

  
\--

 

 

Niall flies back to London the following week, spending the reminder of his time in Ireland with family and friends only. He meets up with Sean a couple of times, once even with Darragh – he’s been off at Uni finishing up his last term – and hangs out with Denise and Greg and Theo. Makes sure to email his assistant Jenny about booking a flight to Mullingar in a month or two, he prompts to make sure that he visits more often. His Da reluctantly hugs him goodbye not saying a word about his departure but releasing all emotion in to the singular act.

“Will be back soon,” Niall promises.

By the time he lands in London his phone is buzzing with numerous emails and at least 10 text messages. The group chat with the LIC has some outing planned for some band that Niall hasn’t heard of. Probably is Laura’s doing.

He ignores Eoghan’s constant whinging and turns his attention to the bolded blue circle next to Liam’s name. It reads:

_where ya been ?how are you?  have tickets to the Chelsea Manu game wanna come?_

Niall peruses over the text multiple times, the casualness of each word, the flitty tone behind the sentence throwing him off. He wasn’t sure where the boundaries started or where they ended but being thrown back to 2012 and waking up to texts from Liam about their plans seems eerily familiar and uncanny.

He thumbs away a response anyway:

_ya ! tell me wen ?_

Niall arrives at wembley earlier than expected, parks his Range Rover in one of those VIP parking lot and waits. He checks his phone the green bar indicating his fully charged battery. He doesn't have any new messages and has chosen to ignore emails for today. Wants to give Liam his time. He flips on the radio, the static filtering through and giving way to London’s top 40. Some weekend song is playing, Niall isn't too sure. Hasn’t really listened to his new stuff. He doesn't change the channel thinking it'd be too much effort.

 

The DJ transitions into a phone call from Sheffield, Niall thinks. Missed the city name while he was scrolling through his Twitter feed.

 

“Alright alright, tell me then, Natasha did you say?” the DJ asks. For a moment Niall considers what it would be like to sit in a booth most of your day speaking into a microphone without anyone having to know what you look like or what you’re wearing, the discernibility that comes along with him being a celebrity will be hidden. Though speaking and charming the callers is another key characteristic when it comes to DJ’s – having to output one’s personality so it could be understood through mere tone is hard.

 

Another voice filters in, “yeah.”

 

“Natasha who'd you like to listen to next? It is top 40 but we'd like to make an exception just for you,” the evident flirting has Niall cringing. He thinks of how uncomfortable the girl must be feeling. Sleaze balls. Definitely not putting out the right kind of vibe that Marvin does or Grimmy when they’re blabbering on about their new golf expedition or clothing line launch. Respectively, of course. Marvin launching a clothing line would be _mad_.

 

“Urm was wondering if you could play Where do Broken Hearts Go. By One Direction?” a timid voice requests. She can’t be more than 13 or 14, Niall assumes. Probably one of the more recent fans.

 

“One direction?” Jake, Niall remembers, asks. “They broke up, no? O no, it’s a hiatus, yeah? Ever been to one of their gigs?”

 

Dick move. Niall stops tapping on his mobile his ears alert and prepared for the inevitable response. It’s easy to reach over and turn down the dial, spare him from the ordeal but he’s been called a trained masochist. Spend years subduing your emotions and thoughts and this is what happens. He wasn’t helpless or forced in any way whatsoever. It’s just. It’s who he is. Giving is a lot easier than taking.

“Me mummy didn’t permit it. Said I can go next year but…” she trails off, fully knowing how the situation unfolds.

The sky outside is clear, no cloud in sight, yet it seems like the fluffy weight is bearing down on him. A festering wound that won’t stop itching, won’t go away no matter how hard he tries. It should be enough. It should’ve been enough but sometimes things aren’t and in the struggle to try making up for them it feels like he might just be losing himself.

He closes his eyes letting himself relax to the opening chords to a song he knows like the back of his hands. Think it was around February or March when he first learned it, the strum of his guitar slightly rusty from old sounds and broken in tunes. A max of three tries was all it took to set it right into the rhythm he wanted. Remembers singing the opening lyrics that washed a sense of joy over him albeit the tragic lyrics. Meaningful, he corrects himself. A voice in his head telling him to do so.

He turns off the ignition taking out his key and opening the door with his left hand, sighs before stepping out into the massive parking lot. Man, if he didn’t have parking privileges he’d be screwed. Though maybe the range rover would stick out like a sore thumb among the Mitsubishi’s and Honda’s.

He beeps the car shut making sure that he has all the windows up and the vehicle locked and starts marching his way to the entrance. He hasn’t even walked to the front door when he hears Liam calling out his name.

He’s wearing a tan bomber jacket with black sleeves and white stripped shoulders. Fits the span of his shoulders well accentuating his broadness. A cotton white t-shirt underneath it along with tight black skinnies. He looks good. Rested.

An involuntary smile creeps its way to his lips, the sight of one of his best friends before him has him relieved. Liam doesn’t say a word, no ‘hello’, no ‘what time did you get here’, and just does what he does best. Hugs Niall into one of his bear hugs letting his body swallow Niall whole. Niall doesn’t protest, thinks it is only fair and needed. Very much needed.

“Payno,” he laughs into Liam’s shoulder. “Been a while, mate.”

Liam pulls back almost hesitantly, his eyes gleaming. They’re doing that crinkly thing they do when he’s around people he loves. Harry, Zayn, Louis, and Niall himself were always somewhat capable of controlling their emotions. Masking them in the face of media and making sure they knew they weren’t the one in control. But Liam he wasn’t like that. Louis has repeatedly been named the ‘bold’ one but to Niall it’s always been Liam. It takes a lot to just be themselves in the light of millions of people and somehow Liam Payne has mastered that art. Being unapologetically himself that is. 

“Yeah, ages. Now let’s get going or else we’ll miss Chelsea kicking ManU’s arse.”

Not even half way into the game Manchester has Chelsea running for their money. Rooney won’t stop flopping and his bald head is redder than his jersey but the man has scored 2 goals meanwhile Costa can’t even seem to keep up the balls pace. If it wasn’t for Oscar or Jamal this game would be a snooze fest. At least someone knows the ball does in fact go into the goal.

Niall huffs in frustration, “Jesus Christ, if I have to see Costa’s sorry arse falling behind so shamelessly one more time then...”

Liam doesn’t laugh like he usually does when Niall’s going off on a rant about sports. Stays quiet. The private booth too big for just the two of them.

“S’ somethin’ wrong, Payno?” Niall treads carefully.

Liam sighs his body slumping against the chair he’s seated in, his fingers entwined and his eyes closed. There is a small piece of thread sticking out from the seam of his jacket where the arm meets the shoulder. Niall wants to pluck it out but instead he rolls up his sleeves trying to busy his hands.

“Soph and I sort of had a spat,” Liam says slowly, his facial expression softening in to a solemn look. 

“Never thought the Payne-Smith’s would see a lover’s quarrel,” Niall teases, nudging his friend’s elbow but gets nothing in return. So, instead he slips a hand over Liam’s forearm pressing his thumb gently into the soft material beneath his finger.

“Proposed to her,” Liam admits remorsefully. “She said….she said she wanted to wait.”  


There is an uproar outside the glassed booth, a cycle of scream and cheers with the word ‘Chelsea’ being chanted over and over. Niall thinks they scored a goal – probably was Oscar. He doesn’t take his eyes off of his hand where it’s planted on Liam’s forearm.

Liam continues, “She’s not ready. I don’t understand because I thought we’ve been ready for a while. Dreamt of the day when she’d say yes and I’d fly her away to Greece or summot.”

“And then there is,” he pauses, looking into Niall’s eyes for any judgement. “Tommo.”

“Told me to ask her before lost a chance and all but you know what mate? He hasn’t answered not one of my calls. Thinks he’s a proper diva having a full on strop about how Belle and Freddie have his hands full but, I just miss me mate. I just miss my boys.”

Niall turns his head back to the game, the green pitch under the cleats bright and crisp, staring at Niall with its glorious intensity. Think it was around 2012 when Chris Rock said they’d be playing it. Which they did a year or so later at one of their shows during the Where We Are Tour. To have filled such a prestigious stadium made Niall tingle in delight. Can still feel the remnants of the goosebumps that once rose all over his bodies. The thought itself has him shuddering.

“Oscar scored. Reckon he’s not givin’ up on this game yet,” Niall says, pulling away his hand by putting it in his own lap. “Savage, innit?”

Liam nods. “You think they gonna win then?” he asks thoughtfully.

“Funny thing about not giving up is that it pays off, Payno. Hopefully, will for him too,” Niall notes. He undo’s the curled up sleeve and buttons it around his wrist. “Think you’ve got things to figure out. “‘Sides first step to succession is acceptance.”

“What’s the next step?”

“Not giving up,” Niall unbuttons the cuff of his button up again. Itching the small mosquito bite on the inside of his wrist that he’d gotten from the barbecue he had with Sean and the lads.

“Ya think he knows? He knows that I...” Liam doesn’t finishes. Doesn’t have to. Niall knows behind the closed doors of hectic schedules and non-stop touring something else was blossoming.

“Dunno, I’m not him.”

Knitting his eyebrows together, Liam looks over Niall. This shouldn’t be hard to piece together, knows that Liam knows what he’s gotten himself into, Niall thinks. “I know what I want,” Liam confirms. “Not sure if my hearts wants the same thing anymore.”

Niall doesn’t say anything. Let’s Liam simmer away in his thoughts, hands clasped together, eyes trained on the pitch supporting players who’ve worked so hard to get there. Each day and minute spent working towards the ground they are standing on. It’s so simple. Humbling, how we work all of our life towards being worthy for a mere piece of land. For the ground that we stand on daily, otherwise. We work towards it. How very human.

They skip the closing ceremony afraid to not get caught in the rush and move out of the stadium. The air is crisp and giving way to the imminent fog descending closer to them. Niall pats his pockets in search of his keys, feeling the sharp protruding shape and tugging them out.

“Alri, Li, I should be heading me way. Knackered and have loads to do,” Niall yawns into the back of his hand. He adjusts his newsy cap on his head letting the hair on the front fall out carelessly. Strands of blonde covering his forehead.

Liam pats his shoulder, a firm grip over his right shoulder, and a thumb rubbing at his excuse of a collarbone.

“Should do this again. Liked it quite a bit,” Liam say earnestly, his eyes doing their crinkly thing. He wonders if the muscles have memorized each crease and line just to show the world how much love the boy has.

Niall vaguely nods knowing his tongue might betray him, allowing him to say something completely horrendous and inappropriate. “Mate, it’s been 6 months. Not 6 years, bugger off,” laughing into a hug. He hasn’t had so many hugs in his entire life as he has in the past 6 months. Jesus, is he that much of a softie?

“Think I want what my heart wants,” Liam confesses to no one in particular – maybe the air that seems to be winding away his words. For people whose life has been a ceaseless mantra of change they sure can rely on one thing: England’s shite weather.

“And what is that?” Niall pokes at Liam ribs teasingly, not really looking for an answer, but Liam gives him one anyway.

“You think Belle is a size 2?” Liam questions out loud and Niall can’t help but laugh out loud.

\--

Hannah takes out a bright blonde tube with bold letters written across it and puts it to the side on the table with the rest of her supplies. She’s searching for one of her serums that she uses after she dyes Niall’s hair but can’t seem to find it, her past attempt at searching included toppling over her Marc Jacobs purse.

Niall is sitting on the stool with a sheet over him, wrapped around his neck and held together thanks to a strip of Velcro. The small bristles poking out of it are itching his neck but he knows if he moves even a smidge then Hannah will have his neck. She put some sort of product in his hair that is supposed to be a preemptive measure to the dye so it doesn’t damages his root or leave it dry.

Little Arthur is busy climbing out of his chair hands grabbing on to the extended tray ledge which is on his baby seat as he toes carefully at the carpet. He puts one solid foot down on the tawny carpet, his toes wiggling against the carpet ends. He’s drooling a little which of course has Niall antsy because he just wants to bend down wipe it off his face but of course he’s told not to _move_.

“Hurrah!” Hannah cheers, raising her fisted hands in the air. She’s holding a small tube in her hands with a thick yellow border around the cap. She squeezes a little on to the tips of her fingers and approaches Niall. “Found what ya were looking for, Mrs. Hannah?” Niall asks, pulling at the sheet a bit where it’s tied around his neck. It’s getting stuffy. He should’ve turned on the air. “What’s with you and calling me Mrs. Hannah? Just call me Hannah. And to answer your question, yeah.”

Niall shrugs leaning into her touch, her fingers massaging the serum into his scalp to his roots. Arthur is now out and after his short lived excursion to his playroom he is back. He’s standing in front of Niall, holding a stuffed zebra, staring up at his mother watching her work with his big doe eyes. They’re honey brown, warm and innocent. Niall knows he shouldn’t allow his thoughts to stray that far but they do and he looks for the small freckle in the eyes of the young boy. Of course, he doesn’t find anything. Not the same eyes.

“How’s everything been, Lad? How’s the break treating you?” Hannah asks, parting his to the right to apply a little more of the white lotion like cream. “Good,” Niall offers, his hands begging to grip on to something so he settles on the chair, pressing his fingers on the inside of the wooden stool. He feels a splinter edge into the callused skin of his fingertip. “It’s been good,” he repeats more to himself than anyone else. Break has been good and he’s caught up on menial things, _normal_ things, like sleep and appointments. He’s even caught up on the latest season of EastEnders. It’s been good.

Hannah doesn’t bring it up again, moves about the room navigating for her things, “alright, you know the protocol. Don’t open your eyes until I say so.” An involuntary thought has him saying, “Think I wanna go natural. Change up me image a bit.” Not a trace of hesitation in his voice, just surprise. Hannah looks up from the assortment of colors before her, eyes blown wide at Niall’s peculiar request. “Oh,” she sounds out, her lips rolling around the vowel as it drags on. A wee smiling crawling up her face, “sounds great to me. Change that is.”

“Yeah, think ‘m gonna change a whole lotta things ‘round here,” his words light and pleasant on his tongue. He suddenly feels himself smiling.

\--

“Going for a grunge, punk revival vibe?” he hears Steve saying. They’ve been fucking about for an hour trying to figure what kind of sound fits under Niall’s wing but so far they haven’t had much luck – straight up pop was voted off right of the bat.

Niall chortles, plucking the string of his guitar, “Sod off.” Steve is laughing wickedly at Niall’s expense as he scratches off yet another ‘potential career option’. This is harder than he thought. Who knew figuring out one’s sound was like choosing between your musical inspirations; would you rather listen to Don Henley for the rest of your life or have a live intimate session with Stevie, Lindsey and the lot? Brutal.

They’re still laughing on about how when Jason was last in London he keeled over a skateboard cause a fan was trying to teach him a few ‘rad tricks’. Fucking insane how the lads got to spent such an intimate time with their fans. Niall has to resist the urge to compare the experience to his own stadium shows and deafening cheers. Though, even today, nothing can beat the buzz under his veins thanks to thousands of fans who sang back to him.   

Jenny interrupts their boisterous guffaws when she walks in with a huge yellow packet. “This came for you,” she hands the envelope to Niall and steps a couple feet away from him. The envelope is neatly closed with a seal, red ink with initials he can’t recognize. “What’s it?” he asks, and it’s a stupid question given the packet is still sealed and knowing so Jenny would have no inkling of what’s inside. He carefully tears it apart at its seam pulling out a stack of starched white paper with black lettering. The first page is contractual obligations of sort with warnings and underlined content.

He flips through the pages looking for some sort of company name cause last he remembers he didn’t request for any other contracts from record companies. The only signature on the piece of paper is one with initials has no recalling off. Finally, he reaches the end of the packet and finds two sheets of paper nicely formatted into different stanzas. Niall puzzles over the lines, “what the fuck?”

The looming curiosity has Steve rising from his bean bag and walking over to where Niall is seated. Niall passes the two sheets to him as he, now attentively, reads over the text. The contract gives him full ownership of the contents in the packet i.e. the song.

“’S a ballad,” Steve notes, his eyes widen comically as he looks over the lyrics before him. “A proper song, mate.” Niall glances sideway looking at Jenny for some explanation, “Came in the mail. No return address no nothing.” He puts aside the thick stack of paper and takes a look at the lyrics. They splendidly blend into one another a smooth transition from one to line to another giving way to the resounding chorus. “It’s beautiful,” he finds himself saying.

 “Looks like you find you’self a new tune, now just have’ta find the sound.”

Jenny leaves them alone once more the boys resorting to their guitars – Niall picking his acoustic Taylor instead of the electric Paul Gibson he’s grown fond of over the past couple of years. Taylor’s hold a special place in his heart though being the first one he learned to play. He strums a few crummy chords, tuning it after what seems like ages, and finds a happy medium. “What say, Garrigan, wanna give this baby a sound?” Steve smirks, grabbing hold of his own instrument.

\--

December rolls in with unexpected snow and windy tunnels round the city. Hertfordshire seeming more and more like a warm haven in comparison to the biting cold. The good thing though is the chances of having a white Christmas has doubled meaning Ireland is going to be lit up all pretty and fairy like. Niall can’t contain his excitement thinking about going home to see his Da and his mates. He visited again in November but thereafter he’s been swamped with work and building up his studio – so close to furnishing that he can taste it on the tip of his tongue. The lads were blown away seeing his hair though, took the piss out of him thinking that he was going through some 2013 Britney Spears phase where he was going to shave off his head next. Were real worried. Niall had pegged Darragh playfully in the shoulder and called it a day.

Today he’s due at the Humes’ residence for a round of babysitting. It’s Rochelle and Marv’s 5th engagement anniversary, good lord knows what that is, and they’re hitting the town for celebrations. As expected Uncle Niall gets first dibs so he is going to be spending some quality time with Aalia. He’s running a little late thanks to his eye appointment. Sat there waiting for 2 hours just to be told them peepers were doing just fine.

Marvin opens the door with a gleaming smirk. He’s suited up in a grey blazer with a tea pink cotton shirt. Classy yet casual. “The sun cam- what the fuck did you do to your hair?” Marvin exclaims, eyebrows arching in mock horror. Subconsciously, Niall tugs at the short ends pulling them down a little so they fall flat on his forehead. He’s overdue a cut but he thinks he going keep it long, for a little – maybe, who knows really. The brown looks alright though.

Niall hears a tut from the inside of the house along with a ‘Marv, language please’ causing Marvin to roll his eyes. Niall pulls at the sleeves of his jumper – actually he’s not even sure who’s is it but it sure as hell isn’t a _Niall jumper_ – over his hands to hide the freshly calloused palms. He’s been fixing up the house and hard labor never goes unnoticed when it comes to the body; each scar and tear representing an effort, a trial.  “Was looking for a change. Thought could start with me hair,” Niall flashes a bright smile towards his friend who sighs dejectedly. “If Aalia doesn’t recognize you, mate. Then don’t come crying to me about it later. Can’t believe you went all Ernie on her.”

“I have ya know my hair color doesn’t change my status as big bird,” Niall laughs, stepping into the house. Rochelle comes running to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, “baby boy you look beautiful.” Niall kisses her cheek and looks her over. She’s wearing a little black dress with a dipped neckline, showing a healthy amount of cleavage, “Could say the same for you, Mama Roch. Now where’s me date for tonight?”

Rochelle calls out Aalia only to find the little one hiding behind the pillar in the living room, “Come out, hon, look who’s here to see you?”

Niall crouches down so he can be face to face to her. She’s wearing a pink frilly dress and a matching headband. Quite possibly the cutest child there is. Niall reaches out with a hand, laying his palm flat hoping she’d hold his hand, “Hey, petal. Ready to have some fun time with uncle Niall?” Aalia looks between her mother and Niall in her own way evaluating the situation.

Niall can’t blame her for being confused it’s not every day that a familiar face turns up looking not so same. Like they’ve changed. He has, he thinks. More reticent, coiled into himself like even a little would be too much. He stops his whirling thoughts because what would a child know. But they’re intuitive. So he’s heard.

Her eye catches the turtles on Niall’s shirt and like no trace of previous hesitation she stumbles  forward fitting her hand to his and using the other to poke at his shirt. “Well then, ‘m guessing we’ll do great here,” Niall says pulling the small knuckles to his mouth and kissing the top of them.

Marv and Roche leave him with a list, a schedule that bullets down what time she should be eating, watching TV, and when she has to be put away for a kip. Apparently her sleeping routine has gone bonkers and she’s kipping around 9-10 and sleeping proper later; not until the late hours of the night. Savage how a wee babe can turn Roch’s and Marv’s life upside down.

Aalia is tame for the better part of the night only throws a teeny fit over her greens – in her defense no one fucking likes sprouts. His taste palate is pretty wide considering he’s had the chance to try if not every, but many cuisines around the world yet it’s the smallest things that are unappealing to me. Feta for one, and maybe peanut butter. He’s not sure if he likes the rough consistency on his tongue, it feels grainy and too salty. Like he jumped into the Mediterranean without holding his breath and ingested copious amounts of salt water. Happened once. Wasn’t too pleasant.

Aalia though loves peanut butter and jelly. Finishes her sandwich in a quickie and whinges to be let out of her high chair kicking her feet and raising her tiny fists in the air. She has little crumbs stuck in her curly hair – something she gets from her mum – and her dress has splotches of jelly smeared around the collar and frill. He unbuckles the little belt around her waist, careful not to let the crust spread neatly on top of the extended tray fall on the floor, and plucks her out of the chair. He puts her down and she hurries to chase after the sound of the telly which has her favorite show on courtesy of Niall.

Niall grabs a paper towel to wipe down the tray when small footsteps alert him. He turns around to find Aalia staring at him, “anything wrong, Al? The telly not working?” She shakes her nod, stepping forward and wrapping her miniature body around Niall’s left leg. Her hands looping around his calves and Niall can feel his heart stop. “Everything okay, petal?” he asks again, afraid to move and scare the little one away.

She presses her mouth on his knee joint, her little breath ghosting over the fabric of his denim jeans, the sloppy drool pressed onto the material. “Thank you,” she mumbles softly. He’s been thanked before of course, by his co-workers, by his friends, family. It’s just this felt different like waves crashing against the rocks, jostling them awake. Everything has been a go go go recently that he hasn’t gotten the time to sit back and take everything in and to think a child could evoke emotions he’d been subsiding is amazing. He bends down, Aalia pulling away, and engulfs her into a hug. “Thank _you_ ,” he says.

Niall gives her a shower swaddling her in her matching set of jammies and puts her to bed, it’s fairly easy especially cause she requests one of her dad’s tune and Niall being a super fan easily hums the chorus helping her into slumber. The blanket tucked to her sides and lights turned off, lamp still on, and he finally he takes in a breath. He’s walking down the stairs when he sees an array of pictures pressed onto the wall, some in frames the others just hanging in a web-like shape with sticky tack. He spots a few of his own, bright blonde hair sticking out from the otherwise brunette family. The yellow is disconcerting it’s like staring at a version of yourself that you’ve lost touch with, like you’re stringing along an empty corpse for the sake of it being there. For something being there.

His fingertip grazes over a picture from two years ago he’s smiling, then to when Aalia was born the tiny babe cuddled next to her mother’s chest as Marv smiles at them. Think he had gotten a call, a hysterical bubble of words that Marvin had spoken in excitement. Niall ordered a gift that night. A dollhouse complete with knick-knacks and some pretty one pieces for the new-born. Flew out the week after to see her only to be told that he’s the God-Father. He didn’t understand it then, doesn’t understand it now. Never even saw himself as someone’s first thought – of anything Roch’s cousins, or Marvin’s old bandmates should’ve taken upon the responsibility. But they had chosen Niall so he accepted it.

It’s a sepia toned picture that stands out the most though. The filter makes it look like 60’s memory when cameras were new and image quality was rough and captured memories sparse. Its little Aalia and slipping down a slide at a playground round the corner from their house – Niall knows cause he’s been there before with the lot – and Roch is crouched, arms spread wide open ready to catch her daughter with a smile on her face.

In the back of his mind, way back behind the clutter of thoughts racing around on daily basis, there is this small, impalpable notion, that someday. Yeah, someday. Maybe the hollowness of his own house will be filled, just maybe.

Marv and Roch get back around quarter to midnight; hours after Aalia has dozed off. Their soft giggles filter into the living where Niall’s watching an old re-run of doctor who. It’s when eleven was the doctor and honestly, he was the best one cause he got the Ponds and Amy was well fit in Niall’s opinion.

“Taking a kip, Nialler?” Marvin asks stumbling over to the back of the sofa, leaning on his elbows, and head in his palms. “Nah, just watching some old episodes. How was dinner?” Niall looks up at his friend.

“Come round to the porch and I’ll tell ya all about it,” he walks toward the fridge and takes out two beer bottles. They settle into the foldout chairs laid under a closed umbrella. December chills in the air, fog looming over the house that can be seen through Marvin’s backyard, only flickering lightbulbs providing a silhouette to the otherwise shadowed house.

“When you flying off to Ireland? Heard B Horan is throwing a proper Do for his son’s move,” Marvin comments, taking a swig out of his bottle and looking straight at the dying – already dead – tree with the wooden treehouse. They built it last year? Or the year before, Niall thinks. Wanted to give Aalia a proper suburban living with the whole white picket fence, neighborhood feel and treehouses. Cause nothing says family like a treehouse.

Niall thumbs at the peeling label, digging under the sticky plastic to distract himself, “Dunno, haven’t told me much.”

“Leave it to you to ignore vital questions and focus on the latter, huh?” Marv chuckles. “So, ‘m guessing not many know. About you moving to good ole’ Irelande.”

The pad of Niall’s thumb feels sticky now, he switches the bottle to his left hand and wipes his thumb over his jeans. He remember that he forgot to switch the wash over to the dryers, his jeans must be a right mess along with the colors he felt adventurous enough – mayhaps lazy – to put with them.

“Nothing’s set in stone,” he breathes, looking up at the misty sky. “Just wanna go home for a bit. Chill with me family and then figure it out from there, yknow?”

He’s been working on the studio in his house in London, thinks it will be a good space for future projects, but otherwise the whole place stopped feeling like home a while ago. Maybe before Niall even caught on.

Marvin hums noncommittedly. Leaning back into the fibrous plastic knotted together to provide a back support. “Heard you’re planning to make a record? Tom called and said something about working with the Kodaline boys?”

The questions feel like rapid fire, like Niall is expected to answer and to know all the answers at the hit of the buzzer. Some game of jeopardy he doesn’t even recall signing up for. He’s not good at that, is good at answering things when they come naturally to him like music and sports, isn’t trained to answer questions that might be more than handful like life. Yeah, that sums it up. His life lacks direction now, pun intended or not, and he’s just trying to find one.

“I-,” Niall starts, licks his lips over his chapped lips, the frigid air adding to their toughness. “Think ‘m going solo. Think I wanna keep making music.”

Marvin must not have anything to say so Niall takes it as his cue to continue, “reckon’ might as well try me hands at the proper thing, no? One Direction. One Direction is indefinitely on hiatus, no point brewing over the impending fate.” He laughs a little, nervousness bearing his words.

“Who’s signing you?” Marvin prompts, reaching over and placing his now empty bottle on the small table between their seats. Niall’s own beer gone warm in his hands. He thumbs the mouth of the bottle, “Dunno.” Except he does. Wants to say they’ll sign him. Launch him in UK & Ireland and be proper happy about it, but he’s being overly optimistic he feels.

“Alright,” Marvin nods. And that’s that. They spend the rest of the evening fucking about, talking about Aalia’s daycare, the radio gig, Rochelle’s insistence on taking this school prep class that Marvin find utterly useless. Niall can’t help but giggle at his friends rants.

\--

“You reckon Bobby ordered the Ham at the caterers or somewhat? Don’t see it on the table and the fridge is as empty as day so might wanna ring up the local if we wanna save this do,” Willie rambles, carefully setting the silverware into the folded napkins Niall’s placing at every seat.

Bobby put them to work while he did last minute rounds at Tesco and Daly’s to pick up bread and pound cake. Niall had offered to drive especially since it’s been only a few months since Bobby’s hip replacement which followed suit to the scare of an acid-reflux attack, but the man is resilient. Alas, he’s left decorating; not even cooking which is a strong suit of his he likes to believe.

“Think B Horan has hosted enough do’s to not forget, William my child,” Niall chuckles, dropping the last of the folded napkins and moving to the stacked plates. “Shut up, you know what I mean since he’s old and all now. Can’t blame his memory y’know. Also, I’m older than you,” Willie reprimands, not really sounding angry. “Yeah, ok, but I’m not the one with a dating app designed for children,” Niall snorts.

Willie stops handing Niall the crystal glasses his dad had pulled out of storage, the box that they were in labelled ‘ _SPECIAL OCCASIONS’_ , looking affronted this time, “excuse me, popstar, not everyone has women falling to their feet. Also, Deo downloaded it not me!”

“Ex-popstar,” Niall corrects, swatting Willie with the flannel he had used to wipe down the table. Oops. “’Sides, probably wouldn’t need one even if I _wasn’t_ one.”

“You sure little bro? Don’t think girls fancied you much pre-One Direction,” a voice booms over their conversation when Greg enter the living room, a bright Christmassy-red wrapped present tucked under his arm. Niall scoffs, looking over his shoulder, “don’t know about Da but your memory must be failing you cause wasn’t it you who had no one until Denise?”

Willie snickers by his side unable to cover his little laugh and Niall can’t help but join in, perfectly aware of the scowl that must be etched on to his brother’s face – nothing says holiday like a little brotherly tiff. “Boys, it’s the hols, let’s be civil,” a distinctly feminine voice cracks through Willie and Niall’s chortles. Niall turns to find his sister-in-law cradling a much older, grown-up, version of Theo.

“Uncle Niall,” pawing his little fingers in Niall’s direction. Niall promptly drops the plate on the table and strides towards the little one plucking him out of his mother’s arms, “my favorite lad. How are you?”

Theo snuggles into Niall’s neck, curling his tiny arms around Niall’s neck, his weight barely anything. He picks up his head with a familiar pair of blue eyes and a trademark Horan smile, “I missed you!”

A warm, soft feeling curls inside Niall’s chest making him pull the child closer to himself. The time spent away doing things he wanted and loved never came with a warning that he’d miss out on the simplest of things, the most familiar of things. A part of him wishes he could rewind and see the little toes pad their way around his living room, have playdates, a routinely session of babysitting after his classes are done, but he knows that it’s ok. Because he’s here now and even if there was a rewind button he’s not sure he’d be willing to give up the 5 years spent crammed in a tour bus for anything else in the world. Family will be here, always. The past five years aren’t so much anymore.

“Missed you too, bud. Got you a propa present that we can open later tonight, ok?” Niall kisses Theo’s knuckles and smiles. “Ok!” Theo cheers.

\--

The family gathering is loud and crowded and homey. Niall is squeezed with his three other cousins – some who even flew out from Aus and London – on their tiny couch on the living room, cradling a beer in one hand and using the other to prop his chin on the armrest. The air is warm, and cozy setting a comforting mood, everyone a little ways buzzed, and happy. Theo is trotting all over the house with Patricia in his step keeping an eye on him and making sure he doesn’t hit any protruding edges of the tables, the piled up gifts, trip over the clutter of shoes disposed in different corners of the house.

Niall’s hosted several house parties in London having the LIC over and going about the house creating a mess and the stuff but something about being stuck between his cousins, his nanny knitting her 12th sweater of the year, her mother chatting with his aunts, Bobby shouting at Deo about not stringing up the lights, is so safe. After years of inconsistencies and flaky friends and constantly moving, this feels solid. Tangible. Something he can grab onto and knows it won’t disappear.

He tugs out his phone from his back pocket where it’s been sitting idle for the better part of the nights, and inputs his passcode, he thumbs through his messaging app. Clicking the small quill button and opens a new text, starting up a new group message. He juggles with his words and settles on

_Merry Christmas! miss ya lads x_

The group looks empty, haunting the ghosts of two missing names, he doesn’t give it much thought and slips his phone back in his pocket.

The cackling and incoherent sentences of his uncle turn into slurred complains and soon they find themselves turning in for the night. Niall gives up his bedroom to Tricia and Claire, opting to sleep on the couch. He’s stripped into his mistletoe boxers that Willie had bought him jokingly last year and a cotton t-shirt when he hears footsteps descending the stairs.

“Not sleeping in your room?” Greg asks, picking up the half-empty container of orange juice from the coffee table in front of the sofa. Niall’s perched up on his elbows scrolling away at his twitter feed. “Gave it to Tricia and Claire,” Niall replies mindlessly, a few mentions catching his eyes. He thumbs at James Corden’s tweet at him ‘ _don’t forget the jingle bell tune for this year! Happy Hols @NiallOfficial’_

He types out a reply, _‘thanks mate have a pint on me and send family love !’_ , and exits the app, diverting his attention to his brother who’s intently staring at him. “Need something?” Niall asks. He’s tired, mostly, and isn’t in a mood for another spat. They’ve been good so far.

Greg sigh, his shoulder sulking visibly, “don’t stay around and get his hopes up if this is temporary. Was hard enough getting use to ya not being around.”

A faint buzz of his cellphone is left ignored as he sits up straight, “this is my home just as much as yours, Greg.”

“Stopped being home when you walked out the front door little brother. Don’t go around making Bobby feel like his family is complete again. He’s too old for this,” Greg reasons, his voice aged and thick. Niall’s not oblivious to the soft smiles and glimmer that seems to have settled in his father’s eyes but this is what he needs. Wants.

Though other than his wants there is something more precedent here, “’m not. I’m here and I plan to stay here.”

“Till when?”

“Indefinitely,” his words resounding against the walls that have seen him grow up. Greg nods turning his back to Niall and trekking up the stairs, the half-empty orange juice bottle still in his hands.

Niall runs a hand through his hair tugging at the ends – no more product left just as he likes it – and lays flat on the couch, a blanket pulled over him. He brings his phone to his face, the little screen lighting up the room feebly, and reads the message he received.

_Liam: merry Christmas to you too nialler! Send my love to bobby_

_Louis: neeiiiilll happy Christmas you little fucker where’s my birthday message_

Louis’ message is followed by a string of profane emoji’s. Niall laughs to himself. Louis’ always been like that straight-forward and demanding and honest – possibly his best and worst quality. Niall loves it.

\--

Niall flies into London at the cusp of New Year’s Eve promising to be back home after sorting stuff out in England, attending Laura’s annual LIC party and Louis’ New Year’s bash. Having his calendar booked to the brim has him buzzing and stressed, it’s been a while since he’s been due to different events consecutively, albeit this time the events being socializing with a couple of his closest mates; he still has some work stuff to take care of like potentially moving his drum kit to his Da’s house temporarily – until he finds his own place. The anonymous song signed off to his name is still sitting restlessly on his island in his kitchen long forgotten but at the same time not.

Black blazer with bronze paisley wired onto the lapels, a plain white t-shirt and tight black skinny jeans is what he chooses to wear to Louis’. The party is meant to be high-profile he’s heard especially cause it’s part post-birthday celebration, part delayed launch of his label that started up around October. The boy’s been busy right out of One Direction – it must be crazy having to tussle between kids and his business.

Knowing Louis he knows grabbing a bottle of wine isn’t necessary neither a bouquet because the odds of Briana being there are close to none, from last of what he heard they’re giving each other space after being attached at the hip since the delivery.

The party is in full swing by the time Niall gets there, the guests pleasantly buzzed humming away to some techno post-believe era Justin Bieber-ish tunes. Funny how last year the same songs were meant to give them a run for their money, quite literally. He spots a couple of familiar faces, stopping and exchanging a couple of cheek kisses and _how do you do’s_ until he starts feeling weary, slightly claustrophobic with the thumping base and the repetitive ‘ _so what are your post-direction plans’_. He has an answer for them but the time isn’t right.

Gingerly, Niall leans away excusing himself to the toilet, when a firm hand finds its way to Niall’s shoulder. A smiling Louis has him pushing back his words, “Niallar, you made it!”

Talking to Louis isn’t laborious. Tedious. It’s refreshing yet achingly familiar in a way that makes his chest warm. A pint into the conversation and Louis is toppling over some ex-contestant Simon had sent his way in regards to be signed.

“He had a proper banjo, mate, like wanted to go on tour with it and all,” Louis guffaws, sliding his now empty glass on the granite countertop. They’re next to the bar where the bartender is busy mixing drinks, blues and oranges and yellows. His story is left unfinished when a mightily pissed Liam swaggers over to where they are stood, “my boys!”

Louis easily wraps an arm around his waist pulling the boy in, with an irresponsibly minute distance between them that would’ve had them fretting if this was a year ago, but then Louis leans in as easily as he had slipped his fingers to Liam’s side, nuzzling into Liam’s neck. The intimacy of the gesture has Niall turning, looking away at the crowd that’s dwindling down as they tread into the wee hours of the night.

“Niall,” Liam says, sounding more sober than he looks. “What’s on your mind?”

Niall pauses in his step, curling his hand around the empty glass tepid from his clammy palms, closes his eyes and breathes in deeply.

 When he was on the Xfactor and had gotten booted off as a solo act he had sobbed into his brown jumper. Strangely enough being caught on camera then having leaky eyes, red blotchy cheeks, and a hiccup-y voice hadn’t crossed his mind. Whirling thoughts about going home and losing a dream was all he was thinking of at the time.

Then One Direction happened over a quick decision and three head nods, him and four other boys were put together to test out their luck, to see if each of them had a little shine and if together they could perhaps shine brighter. They did, of course. Niall managed to, happily at that, steer himself in a way where traces of dreams about standing on a stage along with guitar slung around his chest seemed like a faded memory, something not quite there.

“Do you think – think that you can get me a gig or two?” he asks, biting his bottom lip. Louis squints like he’s trying to put together Niall’s words, figure out what the lad is asking, and Liam’s face softens up. Niall continues, “Maybe an album. Yeah, and a bus. You need that to like go about, no?”

Liam turns to Louis and places a swift kiss to Louis’ temples, “think you got yourself your first solo artist, babe.”

He’s grinning, wide and brilliant, and Niall’s surprised at how relieved he is. Mischief dances in Louis’ eyes when he asks, “Gonna be working your arse off, Horan, with no overtime.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he raises his empty glass only to earn a smack to his shoulder by Louis. He whistles over the bartender and asks for celebratory drinks. Niall feels as if he’s celebrating more than just a prospective career – rekindling a friendship, maybe.

\--

“Ok, but I-” Niall can’t even finish and Louis is interrupting, “I’ve booked you a studio with Justin Young for Thursday and you’re due at the social gala on the 12th and I’m guessing Liam talked to you about pushing the release date around March? Oh, shoot, we need to get you a stylist. Think Lou might be off mid-February.”

“Louis, Louis,” Niall says, “You’re not listening shut your mouth and listen to me for just one damn second?”

“Ok, alright, what’s up?” Louis answers, he sounds like he’s finally ready to listen and there seems to be less noise from the other side filtering in too. He might’ve switched rooms or something cause a second ago Niall was surely hearing wailing children.

“Breaks,” Niall balances his phone on his shoulder and pulls out his tea and mug from his cupboard. He’s running low on lemon and ginger. “I need breaks. This can’t be One Direction regime 2.0 especially cause I’m moving home and like promised Da and all that I’d be around more.”

Louis hums acknowledging his request and then he hears a pen clicking, he sets up his kettle with appropriate amount of water and waits for his friend (boss?) to say something. Niall busies himself with taking out a teabag and placing into the mug and scouring for his sugar packet to refill his now empty sugar pot.

“Ok,” Louis says with finality. “You get breaks whenever you want.”

The kettle starts whistling, the steam dissipating out in small puffs, he grabs the handle and carefully pours the steaming water into his mug to the brim, the phone long gone quiet still attached to his ear. Everything seems to be falling into place better than he’d expected.

\--

The first time he meets up with Vance Joy is outside the Charity Gala Louis makes Niall attend. He’s waiting for Bas to round the corner when he spots Vance leaned against whitewashed pillar sighing into the speaker of his phone. He seems tired, ready for bed kind of tired. But his eyes still shinning. Niall knows the feeling, or did, since recently his schedule despite being hectic doesn’t seem dull, repetitive. More like exciting, new. He’s never done the solo thing after all.

Vance straightens up ending his call padding his way to where Niall is standing. Basil should be here any second now but he’s addressing his stranger friend anyway, “Mr. Joy.”

“Make me sound like a muppet when you say it like that. Have to look into my coat for skits and peppy lines,” Vance laughs easily into the conversation, offering his hand, “Call me Vance.”

“Niall,” taking his hand in his own. Vance’s grip is firm, strong. “You could start with the A-B-C-D routine and work your way from there.”

“ _Vance Joy abandoned solo act to be part of the hand puppet crew,_ ” Vance says in his best announcer voice, a little less robotic and monotone like the usual. Other than Peter Dickson, of course, he’s a legend. “How’s it going, Niall?”

 “Can’t complain, was feeling under the weather a bit but proper good now,” Niall shrugs, slipping the phone in the pockets of his suit pants. They’re soft and comfortable not tight around the crotch how they used to be when Caroline picked out outfits – he can’t really blame her. She was well focused on Zayn and sometimes it was easier to just go with it than complain about his shirts being a size too big.

Vance hums in affirmation swaying back on forth on the balls of his feet, “Don’t mean to sound forward and invasive – probably will though – but heard you’re looking for writing partners. A little birdie known as my agency heard a word about you starting something up?”

“Mr. Joy, are you proposing you’d like to write with me?” Niall grins at the words coming out of his mouth and how easy flowing the conversation is. Like chatting up an old friend for some work help, he thinks.

“Thinking could do a slight folky-indie tune for the coming year, could do one of them roundabout one’s where it’s meant to be the sad kind with a happier vibe. You lot did one, no? With the clapping chorus, how’d it go?” he’s one of those thinking out loud type of people Niall picks up, with how he moves from a thought to another, like joining circuits that don’t necessarily match but still run.

“ _You and me got a whole lot of history so don’t let go we can make some more_ ,” he easily sings the chorus, words flowing like running water; smooth and long. Been a while since he sang one of their tunes.

“Yeah, that. Loved it,” Vance barely gets out the compliment and Basil is pulling in front of the foyer where they had been standing. They nod their goodbyes promising to get into touch.

Galas are fun until they’re not. You get to see money going towards great causes but the opulence that comes along with everyone’s attire and the exquisite detail that goes into setting up the halls almost defeats the purpose of being humble in Niall’s opinion. Giving back to the community in the name of taking away some.

He runs a hand through his hair staring out the window at the city lights, it’s early January and everything seems more alive than it usually does, people swaddled in coats and scarfs walking down the streets carrying on their day. He unbuttons the first few of his white shirt when his phone vibrates by his leg on the leather seats.

It’s an Instagram notification. _Harry Styles just posted a photo._

He thumbs the power button and sinks further into his seat, exhaustion washing over him.

\--

“This is the third one you’ve rejected, Niall. Management aren’t growing on trees ya know, especially for new artists who are being sponsored by a _new_ label,” Louis huffs moving in the kitchen in an attempt of scavenging some food. He opens up the pantry and finds a packet of Doritos and goes onto look in the fridge. Chicken fingers.

Niall doesn’t understand why he can’t just have companies agree to his requests, it’s not like he doesn’t have an already established fanbase. Alright, One Direction does Niall HoranTM doesn’t but he’s in no mood of getting into gritty details on a Saturday night he’s supposed to be spending bonding with his former bandmates. Well, 2/4 of them.

Liam cranes his neck from where he’s seated on a recliner to see if Louis found him snacks, pleased to find him near the stove pulling out a pan and putting oil in it.

“Yes, please, my pans are at your disposal,” Niall rolls his eyes still smug from how Louis knows every corner of his place. Guess somethings don’t change, sort of burn into your memory.

“Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist. Y’all know I’m the best cook of you lot,” Louis grins.

“I call bullshit,” Niall half-shout half-laughs.

“Gotta side with Neil on this one, love” Liam agrees taking a sip of his now almost empty beer bottle. Niall gets up from the stool to grab him another one from the fridge when Louis crudely directs a ‘ _fuck you’_ Liam’s way. Even the profanity sounds less harsh, less cruel, after he spots the smile on Louis’s face.

“’Sides, we all know next to chef Horan, Harry was the bes-“ he doesn’t even get to finish and Niall’s frozen solid. Funny how it wasn’t even Zayn’s name that surged such a phantom weight onto him. Instead, it’s --.

“Yeah,” he closes the door walking over to Liam and handing him the cool drink. He’s sporting one of his guilt stricken puppy looks and Niall can’t help roll his eyes, “its fine, Li.”

“Soz, have no control over my tongue,” Liam says, quickly adding, “I blame Louis.”

“Oh, you’re all fuckheads I’m eating the chicken fingers by myself,” he threatens. Niall and Liam chorus an exaggerated ‘ _no_ ’ scrambling to where Louis is standing and engulfing his tiny frame into a hug. ‘ _All’_ sounds empty and incomplete.

\--

_wht wbt the azoffs?_

Niall reads the text over at least 5 to 10 times. He’s not sure if the early hours of the day are fucking with his head or Liam has actually lost his mind. Might as well declare him clinically insane at this point. Too bad whatever Louis had going with him will have to come to an end. Its ok, sacrifices have to be mad.

He sighs before typing out a reply.

_are you drunk ? high ? insane? incapacitated ? don’t google that_

The speech bubble appears before he can even roll over to fix the sheets around his waist. It might be cold as balls outside but his house has always been like a furnace so wearing a shirt to bed would be outrageous; actually he once did, woke up in his pool of sweat. Not pleasant.

_niall, they are v good. sleep on it. Also. Eagles._

He turns off his phone and tosses it on the other side of the bed, the king size seeming more vacant than ever. He can’t wait to move to Ireland so he can _not_ invest in so much furniture that has no purpose to it.

\--

Thursday morning he boards his scheduled flight to California for his interview – more like a formality as they seemed rather keen to sign him – with the Azoffs. In the matter of the past few weeks Liam’s arse crack of dawn idea turned from horrid to appealing. Of course, Louis laying out terms and conditions and checking in advance with the company’s legal team about Niall’s not so wild requests helped. Basically, his friends are pros at what they do. He just hopes he is too at what he _wants_ to do.

February hasn’t even started and his calendar is booked to the brim with meetings, studio sessions and events he’s due at. He closes his calendar app and pushes his phone into the pocket of his hoodie. It’s fairly warm in California for being the 31st of January. A black range rover pulls in and he gets in without being recognized by fans. Since the beginning of hiatus things have calmed down considerably. The lack of screams at airports almost make them less unsettling.

The drive to his place is forty-five minutes tops. The palm trees standing tall against the cloudy weather that’s looming over their heads. The rush hour must’ve died down cause there is barely any traffic and before he knows it they’re pulling into his driveway.

He signed the lease for the house in 2013 renewing it every year as a just in case. He can count on his hands the number of times he’d used it – always preferring to fly home, London, as soon as possible.

Niall thanks Alfred taking his luggage out of the trunk and making his way inside. Unused houses are always eerily quiet, even when you start to settle in, they have that ominous feel to them like something is missing, something incomplete. He shakes his head at the scrambling thoughts and makes his way to his bedroom. Tomorrow is going to be a long day might as well get some sleep while he still can.

\--

Meeting the Azoff’s is interesting. No, that’s not the right word. It’s more like peculiar. There is this heavy air, from the moment Niall walks in, lingering till the end when everyone gets up to shake hands. Having Louis and Liam here would’ve helped. He doesn’t practice half the diplomacy Liam does nor has mastered Louis’ cajolery to get his way. He’s there and present and steady. He has an answer and if it isn’t pleasing then to each their own.

Irving Azoff himself gets out of his chair walking past other officials, faces that are blending into one another, it’s like solving a matching game, you have the words just not the right blank. He’s always been goo at names.

“Welcome to Azoff Music Management,” Irving says, firmly taking Niall’s hand in his shaking it with finality. Niall might’ve just signed his soul away but good thing Louis sent his lawyer to look over the contract. Fine print takes hours and Niall’s exhausted not to mention the last bullet point on his to do list has had him feeling anxious all day. He’s not afraid just not prepared.

He exits the long conference room in easy strides, his phone going off to a ringtone set for one person specially, “Louis, I signed it.”

“Yeah, good, listen could you perhaps get Bri’s favorite red dress from her house before you get back? She’s on her period and apparently she _must_ wear the dress to mum’s annual dinner which by the way I invited you to? Or did Liam forget, goddamnit, shouldn’t have ever left him in charge of passing around the word.” The rambling continues all the way down the stairs, to the front lobby and into the car and Niall doesn’t have the heart stop his friend for even a split second cause he’s grinning ear to ear and everything is right with the world.

They take, by ‘they’ he means Alfred and him, a little detour to _his_ favorite flower shop. Two summers ago when they were in L.A. recording Four he was taken to the flower shop a little way out of town. Apparently, they’re the best. Niall believed it. Believes it.

He asks for a bouquet of daisies to be assembled, a soft purple ribbon tying them together, bright yellow covering with white petals. The flowers are so essentially for spring – or even summers – but right now, the slight sea breeze, the stark lack of humidity, makes it feel like spring. Niall gets it. Why people choose to call it _sunny California,_ never a dull day.

It’s the first of February. It’s Harry’s birthday. Harry loves daisies. Simple. They pull into his driveway where the bike is parked leaning on its stand making Niall giggle a bit. He feels giddy instead of anxious as he had felt during the meeting, but now he’s relieved, excited to see a familiar face. But mostly excited to see his best friend.

His knuckles tap against the wooden door, soft yet demanding. He tugs at his hair trying to let it lay flat but it won’t cooperate at least the brown looks well – or so he thinks. Louis had almost burst a vein after seeing his hair. He wonder how Harry will react in person. Niall’s guessing he’s already seen paparazzi pics from the Gala.

A minute passes, then two, then three, and Niall’s left knocking to an empty house. His stomach curls in to a ball of anxiety but mostly disappointment. He leaves the flowers on the doorstep hoping the birthday boy gets them.

_happy birthday styles! love ya mate!_

\--

“Heard you and Luke Pritchard shelled out some tunes,” Justin says, he’s on the floor tuning his rhythm guitar feet spread stretched out on the carpeted floor.

Niall’s guitar is lying flat on the floor before him as he fusses with the hole in his skinny jeans. They’re an old, broken in, pair that he’s been wearing since the Where We Are tour. Probably disposing them would be wise but they distinctly smell like the tour bus and sometimes, most of the times, he likes keeping things with traces of memories he made. Not like clinging onto the past but more like allowing yourself to acknowledge that yeah it happened. It did.

“Yeah,” Niall says belatedly, “That indie rock vibe that the Kooks have ‘m proper into it. Think might be using one of the songs.”

“Do you think you’ll write a ballad? One of those sugary sweet one’s that will have teenage girls swooning,” Justin snickers. Teenage girls. Majority of One Direction’s fanbase was made up of them and it seemed like the hot topic to everyone except One Direction themselves. Not like Niall stopped to look at every fan wondering if they fit the 15-19 criteria that the media has slapped onto them. They were just fans, people he was thankful for.

“Maybe, yeah, don’t see how that would be a bad thing though,” he says, his voice tight and hollow.

Justin goes on, not picking up on the sudden mood change, “forgot you’re defensive of your fans. No worries. We can write them a mellifluous songs if that’s what they want.”

Niall sighs, picking up his acoustic guitar from the ground, his shoulders strained and tight. “Shut the door on your way out Mr. Young.”

He’s far beyond pleasing pretentious arseholes who pretend to value what their fans have to say. Instead he walks into his room, the thud of the front door closing not lost to his ears and pulls up his address book in his phone. _Perrie Edwards_. He dials.

A couple of rings in a sweet, brisk voice answers, “Ello, love!”

When Niall first met Perrie on xfactor he had thought she was a sweetheart, pretty, talented and just _fun_. Though it was Jade he was smitten on, her wavy brown hair, soft smile and Geordie accent had him weak in the knees. He shakes his head at his cluelessness, glad they’re still close wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Perrie, hey, soz for calling up so late but was wondering – of course you don’t have to agree – but like, would you perhaps like to collaborate with me. Lyrically, vocally ‘m not sure if I’d be able to match,” Niall prompts, words strung together with hope and excitement.

There is rustling on the other end, the music that was softly playing before now dead silent, and Perrie’s answering again, “Bullock’s about the voice thing. But, of course, yeah, we can book a studio and everything? When’d you like to start?”

“No need to book a studio.” Niall can’t stop smiling for the remainder of the call.

\--

Perrie strokes the string, a dulcet tune filling the corners of the studio, the sound unwavering and steady like Niall had imagined. It’s perfect. “Yeah, yeah,” he says repeatedly. Once isn’t enough. “That’s the perfect transitioning chord, it’s smooth and easy and fits the lyrics.”

Perrie nods, continuing with switching between chords trying to find the right balance for a chorus. Niall scratches over the last line messing about the wording, his stomach curled in anticipation as he writes down the final line. It’s done. They have a ballad. But then it hits him. Like the ghost presence of the papers in his backpack weren’t already in the back of his mind, he’d been thinking since the day they arrived about having to do something with it, but what exactly.

“I have to show you something,” he voices out loud. He feels as if he’s sharing a secret like he’s letting someone know about something that might be for him and solely him but he’s curious, content and ready.

Perrie looks up, looking over at him where he’s leaning over the chair to pick his backpack of the ground and pulling out a folder. He takes out a stack of paper and hands then over to the blonde, she skims through the words eyes widening a little and a soft smile reaching her eyes, “this is.”

“Sad,” Niall volunteers, feeling the vibes from where he’s standing a foot away from Perrie and the song. She continues, “who wrote this?”

Niall shrugs. “Got it in mail. ‘S anonymous but like I was signed over the rights. So, legally it’s mine. But it doesn’t feel like it.”

She hums in affirmation prompting him to go on, “but I wanna use it.”

“Ok, let’s figure out a tune to go with it. We can work with this.”

She gets up to gather her acoustic guitar from the stand at the far end of the room, its new Niall notices. With how the wood shines and strings seem tight even from where he’s standing, but she pauses before holding it up. “Niall,” she starts. Turning to look at him, “Who wrote the song?”

“Harry,” Niall says out loud for the first time admitting more to himself than his friend. “Harry Styles wrote it.” When you live in each other’s pockets for five years, and have songs written for _your_ voice specifically, and when you perhaps, maybe, know the other person inside out it’s not hard. With them it was never hard.

_Even when our hands grow so cold and hard to hold._

_I’ll hold on._

\--

Louis scans over the list of songs, the collaborations, the lyrics in less than half an hour, causing Niall an almost whiplash to his neck when he turns to look at him reentering his living room where Niall and Liam had been playing another round of COD.

“Did you fucking collaborate with every rock indie/folk artist to walk the earth,” he starts with opening a can of beer for himself and comfortably wedging himself between Liam and Niall on the sofa that is not as big as Louis likes to think. But’s ok. Better to have three boys on one than five. “We can start recording as soon as you’re ready.”

Niall pauses the game earning a whiny ‘ _hey_ ’ from Liam – he had been winning -, disbelievingly looking at Louis, “really? You like it?”

Louis pushes off his trainers tucking his feet under Liam’s thighs, taking the controller from him in exchange of a quick cheek kiss, “Play a round with me.”

Niall is uneasy and confused but he clicks the pause button again starting up the round and for the better part of the round he’s distracted driving himself into a corner where the zombies kill him. A firm grip to his shoulder settles him, he feels grounded, and Louis takes a deep breath. Kind and meaningful. “Can’t believe you wrote with Hozier. Has to be some sort of Irish pride thing going for you lot. Everyone’s gonna love it.”

They play another round. Louis diligently adding, “I love it.”

That’s all the approval Niall needs.

\--

Liam brings another duct-taped box from the moving van, he’s over in Ireland for the weekend, helping Niall sort out his newly bought house. The house is old, used, with chipped paint and no patio. A lot of work and time will be going into the house but Niall is excited, he’s already picked out the colors he’ll be painting the living room. For his bedroom he’s going with soft colors, a powder blue wall where the headboard of the bed will lean against. Everything else white, the pale kind not the bright one.

Louis had dinner with Bri and was on baby duty over the weekend so he couldn’t come but sent his regards in the form of a six-pack and the first hectic schedule starting tomorrow. Tomorrow that is March.

“Can’t believe Lou thinks he can get away with sending me beer,” Niall complains, wedging the book case in the hollow space previously used as a decorative place. There were odd knick-knacks lined together on shelves. Niall had them taken out so he can fit his bookcase which is filled with copies he’s amassed over the years – some even annotated in _someone’s_ familiar scrawl that is more readable than it should be.

Liam doesn’t answer, continues unpacking the box labelled _Home Décor_ , pulling out a vase Niall doesn’t even recall purchasing. Right, it was a gift. The overbearing silence has him stopping in his effort to jam the wooden case, “What’s wrong?”

The cold has settled, no more inevitable flurries of snow that they must prepare for, all in all marking for a pleasant weekend. Well, as pleasant as it can get in the UK. He loves it though, the end of winter when the grey skies break out to the blossoming spring, the colors that fill the roads, and the parks, and somehow trickle into the houses making them warmer. Homier.

Liam scratches off the tape hanging to the sides of the cardboard, “You wrote with Perrie.”

A month ago, Niall thinks. They’ve been keeping up giving each other bits and pieces of anything new they come up with but it’s been strictly professional. No past bringing’s of what had happened. “You knew that,” Niall points.

“Yeah,” Liam says with a deep sigh. “Zayn.” He stops at the name, they all do that when they say it like it’s taboo or their ex-bandmate is Voldemort or something, but to be fair they are all ex-bandmates now. So, what makes him different?

“We didn’t talk about him,” Niall supplies, walking over to the newly stocked fridge in his open kitchen that meets the living room, pulling out two beers. Courtesy of Louis. Niall still can’t believe he sent him beer. Who the fuck does that?

“Was no reason to.”

An unreadable expression crosses Liam’s face which is odd cause the lad is an open book. Looks sad when sad, happy when happy. “Alright,” he just says.

Niall doesn’t want to poke him any further seeing as the whole discussion is monotonous and exhausting. Things happened which caused other things no reason dwelling over the _what if’s_ and perhaps.

Liam starts again, “Soph. Sophia.”

Louis and Liam were the oddest dynamic of the group, next to Harry and Louis. The lot started out as sworn enemies and somewhere along the way of bad breakups, lost friendships, they found each other. Their relationship was enviable because it was strong. It had foundation. Growth. It was sturdy not like the first canoe you build with your father but like the one you build on your own after years of learning. They knew each other, maybe better than they knew themselves.

“We ended it back in January, I think.” He reveals, shifting closer the now empty box. “Wasn’t in the books I guess.”

Niall squeezes his shoulder to let him know he has his undivided attention. That he’s listening. Strangely enough, Liam’s smiling, ducking his head to cover the rising blush of his cheeks. “Louis’ a good lad.”

“Yeah,” Niall chuckles, ruffling Liam’s product-free hair. He’s happy for his friend but in the dark, deep pit of his coiling stomach he wishes the daisies didn’t wilt outside on the cement floor.

\--

Bobby comes over the next day groceries in one hand, Theo’s little hand in the other. Liam’s still asleep having to go to bed at 4am still has him knocked out blissfully on the futon Niall bought to use in case they don’t get to assemble the beds. They did Niall’s but were far too tired to do the guest room.

“Niall!” Theo let’s go of Bobby’s hand and runs into Niall’s arm upon opening the front door. No matter how late Niall goes to bed his body walks up like clockwork at 8am like it’s clinging onto a routine that’s long gone. Been months.

Bobby gives him a nod, patting his shoulder as he picks up Theo in his arms, “Morning Da.”

“Morning, ready for brekkie?” holding up the plastic filled with sausages and bread, Niall assumes, in his face.

“Famished,” his stomach growl in sync to his voice. God, he’s starving. His fridge is full but he’s in no capacity to cook besides he has no idea where his cooking utensils have fucked off to.

Bobby, on the other hand, comes prepared. Does two trips to the car and brings back two pans meanwhile Niall seats Theo on the stool next to the island, sitting beside him himself. It feels like pre-2010 again when on Sunday’s Bobby would cook family brekkie and they’d fight over the last piece of sausage and Niall would win cause Bobby always favored Niall over Greg a little. Just a bit goes a long way.

“Grandpa, can I have milk?” Theo asks, Bobby’s eyes widening in horror as he thinks how he didn’t pick up some at the store. Niall waves off him off looking over his shoulder to ask Theo, “chocolate or regular?”

“Chocolate, please, Uncle Niall,” he smiles wide and big.

Liam makes his way down the stairs and hour later when the smell of cooked food successfully wafts into the guest room. Everything feels like home and Niall feels like it shouldn’t be hard to forgo but somethings still missing. He tucks the realization away. Maybe one day someone will come up with a manual of _how not to fall in love_. For now though he’s happy with the people by his side.

\--

The EP releases on the 28th of March. There is no beforehand promotion other than the small appearances Niall had been making here and there. He’s not interested in singles, and promo, and sales. He wants an opinion and to do so he needs to put something out there. So, they decide on an Extended Play for the time being picking five songs that are definitive in describing the sound of the forthcoming album.

Of course, an ex-member of One Direction releasing new music earns highlights on the News, music channels and every social networking site fathomable. Despite strict orders from Louis to _not_ check on twitter he does anyway. A stream of tweets talking about his EP and the songs and _him_.

_@anna_stylan what the fuck niall released an ep?? How did we not know??_

_@horan_stars THIS EP IS A FUCKING JAM SO HERE FOR INDIE ROCK NIALL_

_@nelly-90 have had ‘play by play’ on repeat. Niall sounds so fucking sexy ugh._

_@missy_52kpayne ok but doesn’t ‘years gone by’ remind you of ‘I don’t want to know’ by Fleetwood mac. Ugh. Stevie would be proud_

Niall grins big because that’s the song he wrote last March with Daniel Lanois, he was in Canada then,  when plans on going solo weren’t even thought of. The song was a test try to see maybe if he put this oddball in the mix to see whether the will people have a ‘what this doesn’t even go with anything’ reaction but, alas, it’s better than expected. They’re asking questions which is rare and good. Very good.

They push the album release date to April 20th thinking its good few weeks after the EP giving people enough time to get proper buzzed about new music – considering the EP has entirely different songs from the album as a whole. Not to mention people are now talking. Ever since the hiatus had started One Direction talk had minimized to a monthly release of the ‘ _bands going to break up’_ story, which it did just behind closed doors. Everyone decided to keep it under the radar. One Direction TM was still a mammoth of an entity making money but the boys themselves had extracted themselves from the mess. Louis busy with the label, Liam with producing and helping with the label, and Niall with the whole solo business.

And Harry. He’s been M.I.A for the most of it. No new papped pictures of him at frozen yogurt parlors nor new rendezvous’ with a new arm candy. Niall remembers hearing from Lou she thinks that he’s on vacation, explains why he wasn’t there when Niall was in L.A.

Tonight though there is a slim chance that he might attend Niall’s conjoined album launch / being signed party in L.A. The Azoff’s had insisted it to be held in America as that’s where they are rooted in and Louis’ kicking and screaming about the pretentious assholes had just been a mumble into the void of yeses. He’s get over it, Niall thinks.

The LIC flies out for the party, Laura being Niall’s date for the night. Though if you ask Eoghan he’d aptly disagree saying he’s the one who dressed to the nine’s for Niall. Laura is wearing a petite gold dressed, her hair pulled up in a messy bun with a small glittery pin holding it together. She looks stunning. Niall is wearing a navy blue collared shirt with small outlines of stars in gold. The gold is pale and not shining too bright so they perfectly blend into the shirt. He pulls on a simple black blazer on top of it and black jeans. He looks nice he thinks and when Laura gives him a once over whistling at his little twirl, Eoghan grabbing his bum, he feels good too.

“Look well fit, mind I take you home tonight?” Eoghan hoots.

Liam comes barging into his room with a tie hanging around his neck, “Niall could you help? Louis has other ideas with the tie.”

Louis strides in easily, saying hello to Laura and Eoghan as if he hadn’t see them two hours ago when they arrived, “oh please, a little choking doesn’t hurt.”

Laura splutters out her drink, stifling her laugh, when Eoghan speaks up, “Glad to know you have a healthy sex life going, Tommo.”

Niall rolls his eyes gripping onto the ends of the yellow tie and looping them over each other, “Don’t answer that. Actually, just don’t speak at all.”

“Oh, please, don’t act like you aren’t into a little foreplay before y’know,” Louis wiggles his eyebrows mischievously earning yet another eye roll. It’s going to be a long night.

“Why did we opt out of having stylists? This sucks. My hairs a mess and I look like shit,” Liam whines as Niall straightens the tie around his neck.

“I can do your hair,” Laura enthusiastically cheers, tripping a little over the discarded shoes on the floor. “I’m a pro.”

“I think even your _pro_ skills are far from helping Liam,” Louis sneers half-heartedly causing Liam to pout. He huffs walking over and plants a soft kiss to Liam’s head. “You look great, babe. But I look better.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Liam laughs, leaning into the touch.

The party is. What’s the word again? Peculiar. Not Niall, Louis nor Liam’s cup of tea, Eoghan and Laura are chameleons who fit everywhere and anywhere, however, though it’s the perfect opportunity for networking and greeting people and passing thanks. The album titled _‘SON’_ , it’s sort of a play on words and a tribute of sorts to people who mean the world to him, is set to release on Monday and Niall’s anxious with anticipation but this is good. He has the chance to get well smashed while he has the chance. The reviews from the EP were smashing and it was unheard of how well it did, still securely holding the number one spot on iTunes he believes.

A few drinks in he feels well buzzed, not quite ready to call it a night. He had spotted the other members of the LIC earlier and had taken celebratory shots with them, now he’s left alone talking to Irving Azoff go on and on about how managed big names in the industry. Granted, some of them are his idols but he is tired and happy and is in no mood to smile at his higher up’s accomplishments.

Too bad that’s only the start of the night going to shit. From the little corner where’s standing he glances past the sea of heads to lock on a mop of curls, haphazardly brushed to one side. Everything stops in that moment of time. It’s as if he’s in the hospital and someone took off the oxygen mask cutting off his only source. He excuses himself to the bathroom, lying of course, and finds himself tip-toeing around people to get a clearer view to confirm his dubious vision. He didn’t sleep much, is drunk, so the bleariness is expected.

The steady thrum of his heartbeat is picking up, his uncomfortable smile easing onto his face, when he sees him. He’s wearing one of those eccentric shirts with a splatter of colors that God knows don’t match but for him it works. What is most striking is his hair which is cut short, probably early WWA era looking far more contained than it did from the corner he was standing at. The indents in Harry’s cheek burn an image into Niall’s head like a film that stopped playing mid-way but has started up now. Niall’s itching to push ahead and say hi but the words are stuck in his throat and the room feels like it’s closing in.

Niall stutters to turn when Harry catches a glimpse of him, eyes losing all lackluster that they had prior to him being aware of Niall’s presence. Niall gives up and trudges to the bar, now aware of who Harry was talking to.

The bartender pours him a drink when the lacrosse player slides next to him. “Pour me two glasses of scotch, will ya?” he orders unkindly. Niall hates him, rightfully so.

Niall puts two and two and is speaking without taking into account the repercussions of his actions, “He hates scotch.” The sentence is simple and factual and shouldn’t be that big of a deal. Except it is.

Xander faces him a wicked grin on his face, “Know what he likes. Don’t need you telling me.”

“Whatever you say. Was just trying to help, Xavier,” he says deliberately. The older man scowls a little suppressing his words since the bartender has him beat.

“It’s Xander,” he corrects anyway, carrying over his and Harry’s drinks to wherever he is. That lasts for a total of five minutes. Expectedly, the drinks return untouched as a waiter comes forth placing a new order for _Mr. Styles_. Niall smiles to himself. He can’t be here any longer.

An hour later, the party is still in full swing giving Niall leeway to duck out his absence being hardly noticeable. The coat rack is placed in the front where he turns in the small number slip he was given upon entrance when a pair walks out being very vocal. “You always think its funny,” the gravelly voice sends tingles down his spine.

“Babe, c’mon it’s not,” Xander doesn’t finish just looks Niall dead in the eye. He puts on his most deceitful smiles, the kind you do when you’re talking to your least favorite person on the planet and pretending to care. Feelings mutual. “Hello, Niall.”

Harry trips backwards losing his balance on the balls of his feet, slamming into Niall’s chest, turning and regaining his footing, muttering a small, “Hi.”

“Your party was good but this one here can’t do it anymore. Far too drunk,” Xander goes on. Harry looks rather unappeased at his response, pouting by jutting out his lips, “am not! Ni, he’s lying.”

The nickname tugs at his heart but doesn’t do much to his frozen stance. It’s like he’s lost his ability to speak. He gathers himself, regaining composure, “’s alright. Gonna turn in meself.”

“Alone?” Xander rudely asks. Harry looks confused between them. “Not tonight,” Niall politely gives in.

“Huh, well my boyfriend and I should be off. We’ll see you around,” Harry slips out of his grip around his waist and stays fixed looking at Niall.

“Love the EP,” Harry hiccups sincerely. Niall can’t stop the stinging in his ears, “Proper excited for the album. Preordered and everything” He almost reaches to pat Niall’s cheek or so Niall thinks but his hand falls idle.

“Thanks,” Niall says before collecting his coat and brushing past the couple swallowing the guilt away. The guilt that shouldn’t even be there in the first place. This is entirely unfair.

 


	2. you could be my kind of man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What?” Harry asks from where he is seated. Niall turns around walking to him and crouching down, laying his bad knee flat against the ground and letting the good one support his weight. He reaches a hand out and Harry promptly leans in, Niall’s hand grazing his cheek. 
> 
> Harry speaks up when Niall doesn’t say anything, just rubs his thumb on his skin, “ready to head home?”
> 
> “Already am,” Niall says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooooooo, I finally finished this baby. I'm happy with the end results? Like this is something I really enjoyed writing and I hope you all do too.  
> As always, big thanks to my friends Sav and Amy. Without their undying support i wouldn't have anything. 
> 
> Oh, also. [A special mix by my twin.](http://8tracks.com/niallspringsteen/i-m-gonna-break-on-break-on-through)

Everyone crashes at Niall’s place for that night – that week – and Niall’s delighted. The California house had been empty for the most part except for Niall’s rare visits so the guest rooms were never furnished since the need never arose but now that he has 8+ people laughing about in his house, helping themselves to the alcohol in the fridge, the fruit on the counter, he wishes he had thought things through. But Louis has.

“Oyee!” he shouts making all heads turn to face up while he’s standing on a stool to give himself a few inches over everyone else. It’s ridiculous how the boy is 25 years old yet doesn’t have a single serious bone in his body; alright, perhaps that isn’t entirely fair to say but if there is one thing Louis Tomlinson knows how to do right it is to _have fun_. “Listen up, you twats, Neil over here,” he gestures in Niall’s direction, “doesn’t have enough beds for all of us to sleep on.”

A collective ‘ _aw man’_ choruses in his living room making him laugh a bit, the party ended on an awful note for everyone else too so they had decided to move it to Niall’s place. Not even giving him a chance to wallow in his misery – ok, he’s not miserable but he deserves to get a little drunk after seeing his arsehole of an ex with a new boyfriend. Xavier. Xylophone. Xena the Warrior princess without the nice boobs. Okay, maybe he is drunk. Who gives a shit?

Louis continues, “now I know none of you fuckers booked hotels thinking you could house yourself at Niall’s. To make your lives easier you don’t have to since it’s like 3 am or somewhat. We are just gonna have a massive sleepover so now wouldja help Neil with the blankets and sheets and futons? Cool.”

He tips forward, the chair shaking a smidge, Liam instinctively curls a hand around Louis’ waist helping him get down and Niall suddenly feels like an intruder again. Instead of moping he chugs down the rest of his drink and makes his way to the linen/blanket closet down the hallway. Laura’s already there pulling a thick blue cover, “Hey, bub.” She looks up and down then up again at the tears welling in Niall’s eyes, “Niall. Niall, what’s wrong?”

Niall has no idea what’s happening. He feels the salty tears roll down his cheek, frantically reaching up and wiping them away, “why am I crying?”

“I don’t know, babe. What’s wrong?” she gently cups his cheeks and Niall sees how pretty she is. And then he gets it, gets the strong wave of emotions, he didn’t realize he had been feeling, surging through him. He’s happy.

He chokes on his words, voice gruff, and “I’m happy.” Laura leans back, her hand still firmly pressed to his cheek, “Yeah?”

“Louis,” Niall starts, but shakes his head as if the words pooling at the tip of his tongue will escape. “Liam. You, Eoghan, Greg, David, Sean, Darragh, David, Bressie, and yeah. You all. You came here without me asking twice and I know fully well how much you like a good party but. You’re here. For me.”

Over the course of the last couple of months Niall has realized that sometimes it’s better to say how he feels, how people _make_ him feel and these people who’re causing a ruckus in his living room, fighting over the leftover chips, singing Irish folk songs that Louis and Liam are struggling to sing along to, are the people who make what he does so special. “I’m not big on saying this all the time and you of all people know that but I just want you to know,” Niall shudders, taking in a shaky breath.

Laura looks over his shoulder and then back at him, “We know, Niall. We’ve always known. Your ‘I love you’s’ are never empty.”

“Never,” Niall agrees, giving a toothier grin than intended. “Time for bed.”

“Sure is, Horan.”

He ends up sharing his bed with Louis and Liam, choosing to sleep in between them so the other two don’t try anything funny, the others camp in different places of the house and for the first time in years everything feels close to complete. He’s been spending more time than ever with his family, his friends are always here by his side and most of all, he’s _happy_.

\--

_Niall Horan released his first solo album called ‘SON’ today, April 20 th. It’s been much anticipated after his surprise EP that was released prior to the album in late March. _

_Hello, ladies, looks like teen sensation has done it again. Soared to number one on the charts with his debut solo album ‘SON’. Niall Horan is back, baby._

_What should you be listening this Monday morning? Grab a copy of the “SON” by the Irish sensation, Niall Horan. Not your regular sugar pop, my friends._

 

\--

The next few weeks are supposed to be busy busy busy, he has an interview with Ryan Seacrest, another meeting with the management team about the next steps and attending the Billboards which have been pushed earlier this year to the end of April.

He’s finishing up getting ready for his interview, Eoghan shoving a toast in his mouth as he struggles with the tie around his neck when his phone starts buzzing. It’s Louis. He had flown back last weekend because he had to take care of his other obligations – Liam with him though he promised to be back before the management meeting but that’s more than unlikely– and do his turn of taking care of the children.

Niall grunts incoherently, the flakes of the toast dispersing onto the ground, as he tries to take his phone out of his pocket. Eoghan titters – cooking himself a Spanish omelet, Niall thinks – while Laura rounds the corner taking the tie from him as he answers, “Seacrest in 30. Shoot.”

“You saw Harry at the party?” Louis asks, instead. This isn’t business. He’s not talking business. Niall tries to. “Not business, Lou,” Niall reminds, Laura finishing with his tie and handing him orange juice. He presses a kiss to her temple and chugs the juice down on his way out, grabbing his keys and putting his shoes on the way.

“Fine,” Louis exhales, “Don’t say anything stupid. Seacrest is proper media trained.”

“Yes, Boss.”

\--

“Album titled ‘ _SON’_ , eh? In the section of thank yous you said something about it being an inside joke? Surely the fans would like to know,” Ryan asks inquisitively, the microphone boom stretched into his face.

Niall shifts in his seat adjusting on the ribbed material, he thinks that the fans already know, the lack of privacy permitted on behalf of One Direction allowed them to peek into their personal lives, catching the loose threads of inside jokes and private details and piecing them together. He answers anyway, “Me mates and I, we go by ‘HON THE SONS’.”

He pauses, thinking it through, “’S like a group name of sorts. So, suppose this is for them – of course for the fans too – but like a dedication to the people who’ve supported me through this.”

Ryan clucks his teeth flipping over the stack of papers he has in front of him, Niall picking on the loose thread on his jeans where they’re cut around his knees – nervous habit of is. “Speaking of people who have supported you as a solo act, Liam and Louis, you ex-bandmates are the ones who have worked together to launch you. Impressive to say the least, no animosity?”

Niall is shaking head before Ryan even finishes, “No, of course not, both of them gladly helped. Payno with the producing end and Lou with launching me. It’s been good, yeah. All new but having them around makes it familiar. Not as scary as I suppose?” He ends it like a question to the audience, some sort of affirmation that he doesn’t necessarily need, but is nice to put out there anyway.

“Right, what about the other one? Before One Direction went on a hiatus there was an obvious division between the members, no? The fans thought so and on many events it has been cited that it was in fact _Styles_ whom you were closest to? Has he had a hand in your successful launch?”

The way he says ‘ _Styles’_ is borderline mocking, puts Niall at unease as he grips onto the table fingers digging into the wood at the bottom edging closer to the end of the table. Trying to go the diplomatic route doesn’t help him, “Nah, we’re all plenty close and this album had a lot of great minds put it together, couldn’t have done it without them.”

But his answers aren’t sufficient enough for tabloid headlines so Ryan pushes, “Yeah? But correct me if I’m wrong, Harry’s recently been spotted holding hands with Xander Ritz? With all the drama that came about with Larry it surely must have some truth to it then yeah? You being the closest, did you know he’s Bi? Or?”

The questions hang in the air longer than necessary, Niall’s mouth dropped open like a fish out of water. Propelling himself backwards, the wheels of the chair grazing the carpeted floor, he says into the mic, “I’m sorry but what does this have to do with my album?” He’s on the edge of his seat ready to leave if one more unnecessary question comes his way.

Ryan is obviously startled, “Right, let’s listen to the first track of the album. Thank you for being with us today, Niall.”

\--

The drive home is impossibly long, first getting stuck in traffic, then having to fill up the gas tank, it’s like today is wearing down on him from every direction. Grey concrete swallows under his tires as they park in the driveway him pulling the door open while loosening the chokehold of his tie around his neck. The sun is far from setting but for him the day is well done. Alfred says goodbye before driving away the shiny black range rover leaving Niall to an empty house – Laura and Eoghan must be out.

Later that night when he’s halfway through an old re-run of an England vs Portugal World Cup match his doorbell rings. He sighs, knowing that Laura must’ve forgotten something cause her and Eoghan had just left to get food for the three, and trudges to the front door clad in sweatpants and a loose tank top.

“You lot can’t do one thing right can you?” he’s left agape when he sees Harry on the other end, shyly toeing one of his boot with the other, hands clasped behind his back.

“Sorry?” he offers, and it doesn’t seem like a starter joke. Means more. Niall doesn’t know what gods he’s managed to piss off but it still doesn’t warrant Harry Styles showing up on his doorstep.

Niall doesn’t even entertain the idea of speaking just stares at him like he’s some sort of misfit character in the sequence known as his life.

“I,” he pauses, deliberately. Words coming out painfully slow, “heard the interview on the radio and figured it was unfair. Not right of Ryan to push the questions the world is asking of me onto you. Didn’t mean to overshadow your album or your hard work.”

Niall snarls, an array of emotions coiling in his stomach, “won’t be the first time. Been used to it.”

He slides his socks on the hardwood flooring turning around with the door left open, “what is that supposed to mean?”

Niall doesn’t answer, is too tired to even get into the long-standing argument of what was and what is and how much more he has to prove himself. Singing on a record is one thing, performing is another. Performance. He ticks away a promo idea to hash out to Louis later.

The sofa is still dipped in from when he got up retaining the heat his body had seeped into it, he makes himself comfortable while a very out of place Harry stares him down in utter confusion.

“What do you want, Harry?” he asks genuinely.

Harry resigns into himself, ducking his head low so Niall can’t get a proper look at his face, “Ryan. Ryan called us the closest of the bunch –.”

Niall hums noncommittedly, his heart crawling up throat. He gets it. He always does but right now this is terribly unfair and for once Niall wishes Harry would go away like he always does. For once he wishes the hold on his heart isn’t so strong. It’s not even that he has lingering feelings, it’s the past filled memories that are hurtful and his face is the constant reminder.

Harry and Niall were a joint asset even to his ears in the 5 years of One Direction – even within the band where the rumor mill crumbled some friendships, the others fusing out cause of a members loss, their friendship was strong. Sturdy. It’s said to have a long-standing building it needs to have a strong base, a foundation, they were that to the band. And somewhere along the way everything got to them, crumbling them apart.

Maybe forevers are only in fairytales. Maybe his forever hasn’t even started.

“– you and I. I think what I’m trying to say is,” he can’t articulate it like he wants furrowing his eyebrows disappointedly. Niall helps, “You’d like a start over.”

Harry jerks his head immediately, his eyes circling a red tint, and Niall can feel the itch on the surface of his palms. The same one he gets when Harry is close to crying and Niall just wants to hold him.

“Yeah,” he breathes disbelievingly like maybe somehow over the radio silence Niall had lost the ability to read his mind. To know. Impossible.

“Ok,” he simple agrees no longer willing to stretch the unnecessary cries of war. The niggling thought that he’s tired and foolish and possibly setting himself for another heartbreak are buried deep under the already blossoming thoughts of Harry and him being friends.

“We ordered fried chicken better not hear a quip out of you or else out with you,” he pats at the seat beside him, Harry happily settles himself onto the couch curling closer than he should. “Do you have fresh fruit? Apples?”

Niall snorts.

They both pass out on the couch before Laura and Eoghan even make it back, the day ending with them nestled with one another; Niall’s arm draped over Harry’s shoulder, legs spread out on the long couch with Harry’s head on his chest and legs entwined with Niall’s.

It’s truly not fair.

\--

“So, like he just came here last night—,” Louis says carefully, rounding the island where Niall is sorting out the eggs.

He showed up late night apparently after hearing the whole meltdown on Air W/ Ryan Seacrest to do some damage control as said by the management. He even woke up to his phone blown up with messages from the Azoffs, Mindy his newly assigned assistant for his do’s and don’ts for the management – he kept Jenny cause he adores her and no reason to fire her when Mindy’s lectures will be image related mostly –, and a very confused louis staring down on him and Harry as they laid on the couch. Harry had given him a lazy smile before announcing he had to pee and Niall shrugged and went into the kitchen to make breakfast; Laura already blending a smoothie.

“English breakfast for everyone?” Niall asks, turning the corner and pulling out the beans from the fridge. Laura nods, sipping on her smoothie and suppressing the small smile delicately itching to cover her face.

“—and you let him stay and sleep on your couch because?” Louis continues, walking behind Niall like the shadow he can’t seem to get rid of.

“If things went my way life would be hell lotta easier,” Niall cracks the egg onto the sizzling pan and shaking it a bit to give it a form, bacon already sizzling on the other burner.

“Technically speaking, they fell asleep,” Laura tacks. And Niall thankfully nods at her.

“You don’t want to talk,” Louis notes, purposely ignoring her input.

“I don’t want to talk,” Niall repeats robotically similar.

“Niall.”

“Louis.”

“This is childish why don’t you two grow the fuck up and address these,” pauses, flailing his hands in the air, “stringing feeling or whatever Harry would write about in that fucked up journal of his.”

Niall stops in his tracks, turning to Louis, a scowl in place, “Me? Let me refresh your memory since I happen to be the only person who seems to have a functioning one in this god forsaken band.”

“Ex-band,” Louis corrects.

“Ex-band. He walked out on _me_.”

“Who walked where?” Harry enters the kitchen rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He’s wearing one of Niall’s shirts, hair wet from his apparent shower, and sure his heart is clenching in his chest at the sight but he’s not too keen about it. “Columbus. Apparently, he didn’t find America in the 1920’s who knew?” Louis changes the topic bringing up one of Liam’s past televised embarrassing lapses.

“I did!” Harry raises his cheerfully earning an eye roll and a ‘ _good job Harold’_ from Louis and a tight smile from Niall. Laura just helps with setting up the breakfast on the dining table, taking away the stack of plates and leaving the room.

“Alright, I don’t get it, since when did it become be mad at Harry day? Like I haven’t seen you lads in months--,” Harry whines.

“Years,” both Louis and Niall say in unison.

“-- it’s been 14 months, and don’t act like the twats you are. Besides, Niall you said start over last night and Louis you seemed rather pleased when I called for the kiddos so why pissed now?” The other two stay staunch silent. “I want English breakfast with Yorkshire tea and where the hell is Liam?” Harry goes on.

Niall shrugs and Louis is just blindsided by Harry’s straight forward request. They must be living in an alternate universe cause this sure doesn’t seem like the real one right now.

“London,” Louis replies.

Eoghan walks in at the butt end of everything, finding a disgruntled Harry, an already and even more pissed Niall, but a surprisingly a very chipper Louis. Alright, everything is going to shit. Niall counted his lucky stars too soon.

\--

Niall’s looking through his suitcase trying to decide what shirt he should wear to the ‘urgent meeting’ Mindy had set up but as per usual his biggest concern at the moment is wardrobe malfunction.

“Go with the soft pink paisley with the little green in it, oh and wear khakis with it. Do you own Khaki’s?” Harry peers over his shoulder leaning forward casting a shadow onto the organized piles of clothing.

Niall looks at him incredulously, “No, I don’t fucking own Khakis. I’m going over to Jeff’s not state farm for a job interview.”

Harry does his little squawk, not so little, when he’s spluttering over his own words, “Alright, then dark wash skinnies.”

Niall nods picking out the exact outfit Harry dictated and lays it out on the bed neatly, Harry still looming behind him like some sort of shadow. Since his arrival last night he’s been like that, following Niall like a lost puppy like he can’t navigate about himself in the house – it’s not even that big and he can find company in Laura, Louis, and Eoghan but obviously he’s chosen not to.

“Harry, there are other people in this house you can talk to,” he says outwardly, looking around to find his boots. They are under the bed tucked close to the side table, the front triangle-y shape poking out. He pulls them out and looks up at Harry pouting, “I am aware. Eoghan and Laura are easy to talk to but Louis is there and he looks like he’s about to eat me alive so no thank you.”

Niall’s words are slipping before he can catch them, “Well, it’s not like he has a reason to be nice to you after wha-“

Oh god, now he’s like super pouting or something, the creases on his forehead deep, eyebrows furrowed, lips jut out. “Sorry,” Niall admits, feeling bad without any reason to. He didn’t lie.

Harry shrugs, “I’ll wait outside while you. Yeah.” He gestures towards the clothes and quietly steps outside, Niall wants to curl up in his bed and shut everything out – he can’t keep on hurting.

The meeting with Jeff is long. They go over what he should say next time and what he shouldn’t and what his ‘supposed’ image should be but once Mindy is down reading over her pricey tablet that Niall has seen her use just this once he sighs frustrated. Louis intervenes, “Clearly, this is disregarding all conditions set forth by my artist if you have forgotten I have the copy of the contract with _me_.”

Shoot. Score. Mindy’s face drops, and Jeff snickers by her side, her lack of response has him speaking, “You’re right. Sorry, guys, she’s new. But like Louis said Niall did ask for complete control over how he presents himself and Mr. Seacrest clearly stepped out of line mentioning Harold, but like you know Niall’s album was just released and albeit the response being overwhelming we’re still waiting on the official reviews. So, to avoid future mishaps we can just learn to maneuver around such controversial questions.”

Niall’s fixated on the fond way Jeff had said ‘Harold’ like mentioning an old friend, a pleasant memory coming to mind, and for a brief moment he wonder if Jeff knows that Harry’s currently waiting for them in Niall’s car. Realistically speaking Niall knows he doesn’t but he still wonders if the subtle inclination towards his dear friend meant something else.

By the time they are stepping out the doors, shaking hands and saying their goodbye’s Niall notices another car parked in the driveway with Alfred in the front seat. Earlier Niall had driven him and Harry and Louis but now.

“What’s going on?” Niall says aloud. Louis looks up from his phone biting down his lip a bit, “Bri wants me back. The babes are throwing a riot and have a big meeting tomorrow. Simon wants to meet.”

“What?” Niall looks at him incredulously like it’s utterly unbelievable that Louis is leaving him alone with Harry. “Louis. What?”

Louis arches a brow, jerking his head to Niall’s car, “Don’t be a pissbaby.” And he walks away. Alright, okay.

Niall stomps his way to the car throwing a proper strop over being left alone with the one thing that makes him rather miserable, fucking hell to Louis. He opens to the door aggressively jolting Harry awake, a rush of guilt showers him, “Oh, sorry. Didn’t realize you fell asleep.”

Harry blearily stares at him, his eyes narrowed – barely open -, his mouth chapped together making slick noises. A soft smile makes its way to his face and he looks gentle. Tangible. Like Niall can reach over and plant a – no.

He settles onto the leather seat, pushing in the key into the ignition and starting up the car, the inside is pleasantly warm, no too much that it’s suffocating. Harry turns on his side facing Niall, head pressed to the seat, “How was it?”

Niall grips onto the steering wheel steadying himself, “Could’ve been worse.”

Harry hums acknowledging his response and closes his eyes again. They could go home, Niall thinks, could go back and sit around his house and address things that have been hanging between them or Niall could drive Harry back to his house. Or.

Harry stirs awake after an hour noticing that they’re still on the road, trees on the side of the highway passing by as the gravel beneath eats away under the tires of the car, the sun is shining and its April and time is still. Just for this solid moment.

“Where are we going?” Harry asks, his voice heavy with sleep, deep and low. Niall doesn’t know where they are going so he just answers so, “Don’t know. Didn’t feel like going home.”

“Alright,” he agrees easily, no questions asked and Niall remembers how it was them always that went along with things, that were easily entertained and wouldn’t mind being stuck in a hotel room as long as it meant being with one another. How times have changed. Or not. Niall would still spend all his days by Harry’s side if he allowed – if Harry wanted.

“You’re with Xander,” he states, voice small, cautious. He doesn’t want to look, doesn’t dare to because seeing Harry smiling at the name could cut the thread he’s been gripping onto so tightly. He doesn’t wants to be a victim of something he could’ve stopped, _can stop_.

“Niall,” Harry’s soft and tender and innocent. But he’s not. Niall should be mad but he’s not, the ache that has found in his chest just amplifies a smidge. “So, you are” he answers for him.

When there is no disagreement on Harry’s part, naturally answering Niall’s queries, Niall continues, “What do you want? Why are you willing to salvage a friendship that isn’t even there anymore?”

Harry instantly reaches out, pressing his fingers onto Niall’s wrist, probably feeling the pulse under the pad of his thumb, “Don’t say that. Never say that.”

Niall jerks away his hand, using his left hand to steer the car, “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to walk out on me and back when you please, it’s taken a year Harry. A god forsaken Year. To forget and two to make myself believe the whole ‘ _everything happens for a reason’_ bullshit and I can’t have you come back when everything is great – perfect even – and ruin it for me.”

Niall glances sideways, Harry’s eyes are blown wide and a frown is weighing down the corner of his lips, but Niall continues, “You have a life outside of us, and friends, and now someone you care enough to date so please leave me alone. Let me be.”

“No,” he says adamant and frustrated. “No, you don’t tell me what I can and what I can’t do. I want to be here with you and that’s what I want in this moment so let me. Niall, I didn’t leave--“

“Yes, you did!” Niall accuses, now belligerent. “Remember New Years Rockin Eve? When you were _supposed_ to come home with me? Why didn’t you Harry? Oh, wait, right you had a fuck date with Nadine.”

“Niall!” Harry yells, sitting straight and hand nowhere near Niall’s wrist. “That’s not what it was! That’s what it never was!”

Niall scoffs, the pictures of Harry and Nadine plastered on every magazine like some trophy at the time. Remembers feeling like a fool for grocery shopping and waiting for Harry to show up because that’s what he’s apparently good at. Waiting.

“We weren’t mutually exclusive, Niall” Harry says with steam and Niall can’t help but let it get to him, the car swerving a bit and the one behind them blaring the horn at them. He sees a rest stop exit and pulls into it, Harry quiet all the while.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he seethes, parking and turning the engine off his attention now solely focused on Harry. “Don’t you fuckin dare say that to me when it was _you_ who got annoyed when the Selena rumors sprouted? We _were_ exclusive! Not everything needs to be said, Harry!”

The lot is mostly empty with the exception of a Sudan parked on the far end, the neon open signs of the convenience store standing out against the deadbeat McDonald’s. For the early onset of spring the trees surrounding expanse look rather dead, and lifeless, much like how Niall feels trapped under Harry’s gaze.

‘Oh, please. With you it’s never words! I basically professed – no, this is not what I want. You can’t keep blaming me for something that was a two-way street. You chose to go to Australia, bought a _fucking_ house there without telling and then. Her.”

“For _us_ ,” Niall admits for the first time since he signed the mortgage. “I bought the house for us.”

A croaky whimper escapes Harry’s lips, his eyes red and brimming, and Niall didn’t mean for this to happen. He never wanted any of this. “P-p-l-lease. D-don’t. D-don’t say that now.”

Each break is taunting, Niall sighs, reaching over the divider and wrapping a hand around the nape of Harry’s neck bringing their foreheads together. “I’m sorry,” he starts.

“I’m sorry too,” Harry says, voice drenched in sincerity. Niall wants to kiss him. So, he settles with closing his eyes and breathing in Harry’s familiar scent. “I’m so sorry,” Harry continues.

 

They park in Harry’s driveway the younger boy making no move to get out the car, cheeks still stained from silent tears he cried on the way back, Niall doesn’t know what to do. Funny, how he has a plan for everything except Harry Styles. But thankfully Niall’s the outstanding question in the other’s life too – that much he _does_ know.

“We’re here,” Niall says like Harry doesn’t already know, hasn’t taken in his familiar driveway and plants placed neatly on the sides of the doorstep.

“This isn’t your place,” Harry notes just as stubbornly.

“I’m aware,” Niall grips onto the rubber of the steering wheel. Nail indents must be ruining the flat surface but he’s too hyperaware of his emotions and vaguely antsy thinking that maybe Xander is going to pop out of somewhere. “Harry.”

“Niall.”

“Let’s not do this.”

“Then let’s not,” Harry raises a brow in challenge. “Let me be your friend.”

Niall opens his mouth but Harry has him beat, “We don’t. We don’t feel that way anymore – and it’s agonizing knowing, we can do this.”

The slight pang in Niall’s chest doesn’t go unnoticed, Harry’s right neither of them feel how they did what’s left is the residue of anger and frustration and a lot, a lot, of tiredness. He’s ready to move on so he pulls the gear in drive and backs out of the driveway. “Alright, you’re cooking tonight. For four.”

“How do fajitas sound?” Harry says out loud already looking up a recipe on his Pinterest app. The man has a fucking Pinterest app. Niall can’t help but laugh letting out the unnecessary tension surrounding them. The guarantees that came along with One Direction never lasted except one and he supposes the one thing he needs to remember is that. _They’ll be fine._

\--

“Don’t go,” Niall drawls, holding onto Eoghan’s arm pressing his cheek on his bicep – the lad has been working out, Niall should ring Jarvis – and using his other hand to hold onto Laura’s wrist. “I’m gonna die here with these valley folks.”

Harry lets out an indignant squawk, proper offended, “Hey! We’re nice!”

“Fucking hell, Styles has already forgotten that he’s British. Niall, if you dare forget your roots in the next two weeks I swear on Bobby’s life I’ll beat your arse,” Eoghan pulls out of Niall’s graps pulling on his backpack that was sitting on the floor. Laura chimes in, “I’ll help. Besides, Harry will keep you company won’t you?”

He hastily nods, all grins and wide eyed. Niall makes a sour face wrinkling his nose which earns him a swat on his arm from Harry who’s leaning on the opposite side of the island. “I’m a right joy!” he complains.

Niall rolls his eyes a soft peck to his cheek from Laura as she looks at him trying to gauge some kind of resolution, “I’m proud of you.” She sounds solid, proud. Niall feels the warmth spreading through his chest, “Thanks.” Eoghan mimics her and slaps a sloppy kiss to his cheek, he’s burning bright red, “Love you lot.”

“Love you too,” they chorus and taking their luggage and walking out the door.

“And then there were two,” Harry says pulling out a carton of orange juice from the fridge.

Later that night Niall’s scrolling through his emails again, one last time, and his schedule. Promo season is packed and he sent the performance idea to Louis; currently they’re working on pulling strings and get him a spot at the billboards. Niall’s not sure if that’s what he meant but he decides to sleep on it. The clock reads _12:30_ and he should really be getting to sleeping but he’s wired. Tomorrow he’s interviewing with another radio show but it’s supposedly a short segment. Last minute slot or somewhat but they weren’t willing to pass the opportunity to drill him with some questions of their own.  Everyone wants to know something and everything, just not about him. Never about him.

Guesses it’s okay cause Niall is different from who they see, he’s supposed to be the famous celebrity they hound for gossip but the most interesting thing he’s been hiding is probably snoring away next door. And even that isn’t by choice. Tough being famous when that’s not who you are. Who he is.

Naturally, the thought of Harry isn’t left alone when he hears a knock on his door. He’s leaning against the bed’s headboard with sheets gathered around his waist - too comfortable to get up. “Come in,” he bellows, scratching his head nervously.

Harry slowly nudges the door open, teasingly almost. He’s in short boxers. They’re black. And that’s all. Perfect. “What’s wrong?” Niall says since Harry won’t speak. The room is dimly lighted with only a lamp so it’s hard to make out his expression but he can tell his hair is floppily pushed to the side covering part of his face, or maybe it’s cause he’s ducking, he’s not sure.

“The house. It’s very quiet,” he sounds like he never fell asleep like he spent hours twisting and turning in his bed. “Good observation, Styles,” Niall chuckles, “Sacred?”

“No,” Harry says indignantly, “What do you take me for, Niall?”

“Faux Mick Jagger trying to live a hipster lifestyle in sunny California with his frozen yogurts and vintage cars and, oh, let’s not forget--”

“Was a rhetorical question, you asshat!” Harry laughs and it’s sweet and it’s like they’re back on the tour bus fucking about too strung up for sleep, too tired to do anything else. Too much yet too little of everything.

Niall puts his phone on the side table where the lamp is, illuminating his features, and looks at Harry again waiting for something. “Can’t,” Harry starts but Niall is already saying, “C’mere.”

Small thuds, a click of the door, and Harry is in bed with him. “Don’t you dare pull the sheets,” Niall warns, turning off the lap and laying on his side. The ocean apart between them has him aware.

“Niall?”

“What now, Harry?”

“Nothing,” and like that the conversation ends. Niall doesn’t think of how Harry scoots closer, barely touching still there, his solid body shadowing Niall’s back. He doesn’t dwell on it.

\--

“So, Niall, let’s talk about your album shall we?” Lara says, crossing her legs and brushing off the nonexistent lint off her dress. Being nit-picky himself Niall can pick up on people’s nervous habits quite easily.

Strangely enough it’s an experienced presenter who seems more nervous than they should be. Probably the stakes riding on this interview, “You have called it ‘ _SON’_ and according to our confirmed sources you did so to thank the supportive people in your life, is it so?”

“Yes,” he agrees simply.

“Tell us what inspired you to jump out of your routine pop vibes that One Direction started with. Obviously, you lot steered in new directions before the hiatus but this is completely different, no?”

Niall shakes his head, not too eagerly, “Actually, think it is spot on what I listen to if you ask me. Compiling songs that reflect what your preference is was the goal and I thought I did pretty well at that? Like obviously I’ve never turned my nose on straight-up pop songs which can be hinted in songs like ‘break on through’ but then you have one of them tracks on the EP called ‘years gone by’ and that has the whole Fleetwood mac-esque vibe to it.”

The camera is blindly following him as he talks, the glaring lights causing the slight dampness on his forehead, “But everything written is a taste of my style, probably more cohesive than the EP and hopefully everyone likes it. The guitar parts on a few are my favorite especially because I got to play them myself this time – no backup band, of course. The whole recording process was very fun; got to work with me closest mates and all.”

“Well, if it’s any reassurance George and I absolutely love it. Don’t we?” she laughs back into George’s shoulder. He aptly agrees, “Very much so, Lara. Though I’m curious, one of the ballads, I believe it’s called ‘Hold On’ didn’t have any writers listed to it? And its heart wrenchingly beautiful if I say so myself. Would you like to spill some secrets?”

The tick in his head picks up its pace, he plays with the handle of his mug – now empty of the tea – and forces a smile. “Think I’m gonna keep that to myself,” Niall laughs awkwardly and they cut into break.

Lara and George get up and shake his hand before saying their goodbyes. Stepping off the set to go to the makeup department for a touch up. Accordingly, Niall pulls out his phone to check the time but gets interrupted by a phone call – funny how it’s always Louis.

“What now?” Niall steps off waving his hand as a goodbye as Basil guides him outside the studio. Fairly sunny and warm outside. Niall regrets wearing a long sleeves black Henley.

“Jesus, only was checking in to say that you’re done with LA rounds. Nothing else is left and your return ticket for tonight is been sent to your house. To Ireland of course.”

Niall staggers a little, “Wait, what about New York?”

“Niall. You said you wanted to be home before the end of May and you didn’t want to perform at the billboards so I figured that you didn’t plan on doing gigs?” Louis iterates but the last few weeks have changed his mind about many things. “Besides, you have the BBC thing scheduled for this Thursday and interview with Grimmy on Monday. Oh, and Jonathan Ross!”

Niall looks up at the sky clear of any clouds, just the sun expanding to every little corner it can reach, too big for the peripherals of his vision. He breathes in, “Yeah, alright.”

By the time he gets home he already has a mental checklist of how the rest of the day is going to go before his flight home, but unfortunately the list didn’t include the friend singing away to ‘Cecilia’ in the middle of his kitchen. It’s like all important conversations of his life happen here; in a kitchen. How mortal.

Harry swivels around to the song, a carrot hanging from his mouth, and a spatula in his hand with hair pulled back by a sparkly gold headband. He looks ridiculous.

“Welcome home!” He greets, the carrot falling to the ground which he bends over and picks up, the toothy grin never leaving his face. “I made brunch. Bruschetta’s, bacon wrapped apricots with sage and cucumber sandwiches.”

Everything is neatly placed in different plates as he flips over the last of the bacon wrapped apricots, he can’t see him anymore, his back turned to him, but can hear the smile in his face, “thought it would be a big day, no? I saw it on TV while I cooked. They talked about the album a lot and were keen on finding about the inspirations and all. Didn’t know you talked to James Bay for some of the tunes, yeah?”

Harry turns when he doesn’t receive a response. This feels too complete. The wholeness of Harry in the kitchen cooking for the two of them, maybe pulling out his journal later while Niall brings over his guitar and they write – _together_.

“Niall?” he says again.

“My flight leaves tonight. Going back to the UK for the rest of the promo and think gonna stay there,” Niall confesses. He can feel his cheeks burning, he shouldn’t feel the guilt but alas it’s there as always, the way Harry’s face is crestfallen doesn’t help. But he quickly recovers, “Of course, yeah. I’ll get out of your hair. Yeah, let me pack my stuff.”

He shuffles out of the kitchen hurriedly, but Niall knows he doesn’t have much to pack since he’s been living here on borrowed clothes – more specifically borrowed time. Niall brushes his finger on top of a bruschetta, the bread perfectly light brown and picks it up.

Harry walks out only a few minutes later adorning clothes he had worn the first night over. The gold headband still goofily placed on his head, Niall wants to ask the story behind but it seems pointless. “I’ll drive you back,” Niall offers.

Harry shakes his head, “No need. He. Urm, Xander will be here soon.”

Niall mouths an ‘oh’ the guilt evaporating as the agitation builds up. Fuck this. Harry is leaning against the counter now his back to Niall as he’s on the other side, Niall rounds it and comes and stands right in front of him.

“Harry,” demanding his attention from where it is on the phone, he looks up confused, and Niall lurches forward.

Harry’s lips against his are motionless at first, his fingers working with the top button of his collar which is uncharacteristically buttoned, but he soon catches on. The phone long forgotten on the marble slab behind him as he tries pushes off it – evidently failing, fisting his own hand around Niall’s collar and the other gripping onto Niall’s bicep to steady him.

Niall stumbles backwards a bit as Harry tries to invade his space so he does just as he’s asked, licks into Harry’s mouth, his tongue twisting around the other’s. Harry lets go of his fist and runs a hand over Niall’s shoulders, and they pull back heavy and breathless. Niall presses a kiss to his jaw, a soft groan fleeing Harry’s mouth, then trailing down to his neck and finally, stopping at his collar bones.  He licks the surface, Harry quivering under the warm breath, and sucks onto the skin until it is bruised blue; until the soft groans are burned into Niall’s ears; until he himself feels stirred up.

The doorbell rings ironically the same time as he pulls back from kissing Harry one last time, the boy’s lips slick and shiny and swollen. “Your rides here,” he runs a hand through his mussed up hair, licking his lips, and leaving Harry to himself.

The door closes with a bang once Harry leaves.

\--

“Good morning, London!” Grimmy chimes into the microphone. “As promised we bring to you a good friend of mine and rising artist, Niall Horan. How are you, my friend?”

Good, Niall thinks. “Doing well meself. What about you, Grimmers? Top O’ the morning, no?”

“One heck of a morning I’d say. Glad to be here though and ready to start this buzzer round of questions, what say?”

Niall feels at ease here, can feel the different atmosphere, like the questions – even if they are hard – won’t have a daunting feeling behind them. And they don’t. They go in and out of conversation, banter here and there, and everything feels settled.

“Saw that Ronnie Wood tweeted at you praising some of the songs. How does being acknowledged by one of your repeatedly cited inspirations feel like? Tell us how you _really_ feel?” Grimmy waggles his eyebrows and takes a sip out of his water bottle.

Niall leans forward on his elbows, “Like anyone who’s looked up to someone would feel. The fact he was able to give the record a listen has me buzzing and for him to _like_ it? That’s insane. Had the honor of meeting him once, I’m grateful,” and Niall is. One of the outcomes that is a huge part of his job has made him grateful for everything he has and has been able to do.

Can’t thank his fans enough for letting him stand where he is. They will always remain the people responsible for making his dream come true whether it be as a solo act or as 1/4th of One Direction.

“And we are for you,” Nick finishes queuing into another Top 10 song and Niall thinks how long it will take him to drive home. Maybe not too long now that he’s free for the remaining of the day.

He walks in to a not so empty house – even after buying his house in Ireland he didn’t sell the one in London thinking he’d probably need it considering all his work stuff is in London – seeing Maura standing with a hoover in the living room pilling the books Niall left splayed out on the floor, before he left, on the glass table.

“Ma?” Niall voices in disbelief, “What do you think you’re doing?”

He takes the hoover from her dropping his keys on the table and eyes her like her doing his chores is downright ridiculous, but she just smiles her sweet smile, “heard the album on the radio. You’re so good.”

Eyes brimming with tears and frail body shaking as she reaches for Niall’s cheek, she’s never seemed smaller, Niall wants to hide her away from any pain and frustration – knows that he might be the one causing it.

He hugs her tight, wrapping his arms around her waist, “Ma, you don’t have to clean for me.”

“Feel pretty useless for my baby thought I’d help? With little things? Look at you looks like you’ve lost weight, they don’t feed you proper in America?” classic Maura he laughs. That’s been her daily speech ever since he got on the road all those years ago – young and excited. Niall wishes there was a way to give his mother the years she missed, he can’t though, but things have changed and now he can do something about his job and can _finally_ be around. Sometimes you have to take the long way home. It’s taken years to figure out but he finally knows what it is.

Not a place, but a feeling. That’s home.

He seats her down kissing her forehead toeing off her shows and putting on the telly, “what say we watch your favorite movie? What was that shitty movie again?”

“Niall,” she tuts at his language and he just bellows out another laugh, pulling her close. “Maaaaaaa, what was it?”

“Hush, give me it I’ll put it on,” he hands over the remote and crosses his legs ignoring the little twinge his knees give away. He’s alright.

\--

Laura throws a party in his honor, or more like to prove Eoghan and himself that she can throw a do without assembling her miniature army of A-lister friends. She does well. Well, mostly. Her only friends who aren’t exactly caught up in the limelight are the London Irish Crew and even then most of them have jobs that more or less requires TV appearances – Niall excluded of course. He’s their proper rockstar.

“Can’t fucking believe she pulled this together, I feel like the cosmic powers want me to mess about this in some way,” Eoghan snickers, sipping down the beer he had been hosting for the better part of the night. He’s only over for the day after Laura sent out the ‘ **RED ALERT IMPORTANT TEXT** ’ about two weeks ago. Everyone had to show up for Niall presumably. In reality it was just so she can cope out the 10 quid Niall and Eoghan owed her, separately. They’re cheap _not_ that cheap. Ok, plenty cheap whatever.

“Could ruin her bedroom, use that new MAC lipstick she was on about,” not the most creative idea but after being proper glushed that’s all he can think of. Eoghan grins maniacally, pulling Niall’s hand and guiding him upstairs.

Takes about 30 minutes to use the lipstick to leave corny messages as they had once before and dressing up in Laura’s ‘ _prime Niall prime’_ lingerie.  The memories railing back in are stopped when his friend asks, laid out on the King Size bed – for their lovely Laura – side to side, “reckon’ you love the solo thing?”

Niall is too sober for this, thought he had enough drinks for tonight but suddenly he’s craving another. He answers anyway. Feels like he has to.

“Dunno, something’s missing,” he is honest.

“What do you think?” Eoghan turns holding up head on the palms of his hand.

Niall stares at the ceiling, glow stars stamped against the paint and decorating it neon blue, remembers gifting them to Laura almost as a joke but when he found out she used them he was immensely happy. So, easy having people who just care naturally. It’s inbred into them. Into his friends.

“Wanna perform but not like a stadium or something. Smaller, maybe a pub. Or even the rickety diner near Dominick.”

“Then do it,” Eoghan says simply.

Niall finally faces him, his friend giving him a disarming smile, “Popstars don’t do that sunny.”

“You’re no popstar, mate. Just Niall.”

Just Niall. He is so. “I’ll call Danny’s tomorrow and ask for a gig,” Niall says.

Eoghan is about to say something when a shrill scream jolts them to sit up, “You fuckers don’t ever stop do you! I’m gonna kill you!”

Laura jumps on the bed wrestling Eoghan and successfully pinning him down all the while Niall doubles over laughing, falling off the bad. The night ends on a high note he decides; even if Laura’s precious MAC lipstick was used as a sacrificial pawn.

\--

“Do you two wankers not have your own houses to be in? Since when did mine become the Horan Hotel?” Niall asks, watching as Louis settles his suitcase onto the floor pulling out a baseball tee with red sleeves. Niall’s sure it’s one of his favorites that he’s kept from the band days. Ok, it’s been a year and half not ten. Get a grip on yourself Horan, Niall mentally reprimands himself.

“Listen. I had to get away okay? Brought Belle with me cause Bri wanted a break from one of them and Freddie is always better when she’s around,” he recites like the exact words had come out of Brianna’s mouth.

Niall shrugs walking over to where Liam is rocking back and forth on the balls of his heels, a little babe swaddled in a powder blue blanket in his arms. She has her tiny thumb in her mouth as she stares at Liam doe-eyed, she’s exactly like her father. The delicate features tracing her face, the soft blue of her eyes, the wisps of baby hair (brown) growing on her head. Precious.

“Good thing had the nursery finished in time for Theo and the guest room furnished otherwise you lot would’ve had to sleep on the floor or a futon,” he points in between the two boys – men.

Liam crinkles his brows, “You wouldn’t do that to Belle here now would you, Nialler?”

Truth is the nursery is more of a playroom but with Louis’ frequent visits he thought that installing a cot just preemptively would be a good idea. Of course it was. “Nah, petal here could sleep with me,” he pokes her hands, the child crinkling her eyes in delight, “besides it’s her dad’s that should worry about the sleeping situation.”

He doesn’t even think twice before saying it but Liam’s sudden stiffness draws back his attention, he’s staring at Louis. The silence hangs between them momentarily before Louis speaks up, “Her _dads_ will be fine in the guestroom with the massive bed, thank you very much. Don’t be an arse.”

The lack of hesitance on Louis part has Liam sighing in relief and Niall feels happy. Content. “’sides, couldn’t miss our favorite Irishmen’s first gig now could we?” Louis carries on.

Niall’s ready at 7 sharp but he’s waiting on Liam and Louis to leave. Apparently, Belle pooped the last second so they had to go change her nappy, well, Louis changed while Liam horribly supervised. They’re a right mess those two.

“Lads, c’mon my set is supposed to start at 8:00 and Bobby is already there with the rest. They’re all waiting,” Niall gets out for the doorbell to ring. He sighs thinking it’s probably Sean or Darragh stopping by beforehand or something but is surprised to see Harry on the other side.

“Haz?” the nickname more pronounced on his tongue, the pressure on his chest lifted seeing Harry’s smiling face. “What are you doing here?”

They left on an awkward note but tonight is a big night for Niall and he’s willing to push aside past feelings for something better, _something new_.

“Heard about you doing a gig at Danny’s. Your first of many. We couldn’t dream of missing it,” Harry explains. He looks off like he’s trying to curl into himself with each word. Wait. _We? Who’s we?_

Another figure appears from his left coming behind Harry and snaking an arm around his waist, “Niall, hey dude, there wasn’t much space to park so did on the neighborhood road. Is that okay?”

Fucking Xander. Harry had the gall to bring him to Niall’s _house_ in _Ireland. Honestly, what the fuck?_

Niall dumbly nods quickly spinning around walking in to the house, Xander and Harry quite evidently hot on his heels,  and then thankfully a very exasperated Liam walks out of the extended hallway, “So, Belle is just ab- what Harry?”

Niall closes his eyes, counting his breaths. 1.2.3. Liam pushes past him, briefly gripping onto his shoulder, “Harry, mate, what a surprise?”

With a steady pace he makes it to Louis and Liam’s room where he finds Louis leaning over the edge of the bed pulling up a one piece over Belle. He’s whispering something, “Look at my princess ready to conquer the world. Aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

Any frustration Niall had dissipates. “Ready Lou?” the older boy looks up grinning.

“Yeah.”

\--

“ _So, I wish time would slow down so I could keep your heart around if I can’t make you stay another day I’ll wait another day for youuuuuu. And for youuuuu,_ ” Niall croons into the mic as the crowd listens. The pub is packed to the brim, people sitting on the floor, some squeezed in the back, some on top of tables, the bar. Its proper packed no place to move. He hadn’t expected this big of a turnout but he didn’t really know what he expected. Not much. None at all.

He plucks the strings of his guitar one more time, running his fingertips over the tight metal, playing the ending A minor chord as the crowd erupts into an applause. The bright light shining in his face fades out as his eyes focus on his family, his mother walking towards him, the fans let her pass – quite respectful and gentle – as she engulfs him into a hug once he’s off the make do stage.

“So proud of my baby,” she gushes crying into his chest and Niall feels it. They have done so many things as a band, conquered the world, broken records, had #1’s, received awards, but right here he feels infinitely complete and he’s only proven right when Bobby comes over wrapping an arm of his around his shoulder. His own soft sobs escape muffled by the crown of his mother’s head - taking in everyone who is around him, supporting him. He feels like the years spent trying to prove something have finally paid off.

No need for fancy lights or props or shimmery clothes. All he needs are these people and his guitar and he’s good. He’s finally wholly good.

All this time he was trying to find home. When it was right in front of him. _Here_.

He pulls his head up, eyes dewy, and glances a look at Harry. He’s smiling with those massive craters in his cheek and Niall can feel the knock of air in his chest, he isn’t finished processing the realization when Bobby tugs him for a hug, “Didn’t know you could sing. Where’d you learn?”

“Not from you,” Niall laughs into his shoulder. Others approach him tentatively afraid to barge in on his family moment but when Niall jerks his head to come over they do. Liam gently hands Belle into Maura’s arms while Sean, Darragh, Eoghan, Greg and Louis tackle him in to a hug. He’s flushed straight down to his chest topfull of happiness.

Once he’s released from the massive group hug he turns his attention to the few fans still patiently waiting for him, he notices one of them holding his album and a pen. “What’s your name, love?” he asks, taking the pen and CD signing his name.

“Marie,” she says hesitantly. “I, I came from London. My friends and I.” The girls behind her look at him expectantly, their eyes fond and Niall can’t help but smirk, “Must’ve been a ride.”

Once he’s done signing their CD’s and taking individual photos he swirls around to find the rest of the goons when a younger girl, Marie’s sister he thinks, tugs on his sleeve. He crouches down careful of his achy knee, “Hello.”

She doesn’t say anything at first just leans forward and places a peck to his cheek, “Thank you for making Marie happy. All of us happy.”

Niall blinks at her, startled. He exhales, his shoulders falling slump, “ _thank you_ for making _me_ happy.”

Once the girls teeter away leaving Niall in their wake he thinks it’s safe to go back to his mates and family but Harry already had him beat, “You were wonderful.”

He’s still smiling, softer now though, more reticent. Niall needs to stop kidding himself right now. There’s no point in ignoring something that’s so deeply there, buried into his roots that shaking it off now is nearly impossible.

“Thank you for coming,” Niall says sincerely. Harry doesn’t reply his face itself contorts the ‘ _anything for you_ ’. Niall gets it. Always does.

It’s like Xander has some telepathic senses which go off whenever Harry and Niall are alone because he soon comes ringing in, a drink in his hand, “Horan!”

“Ritz,” Niall says tightly. Xander, deliberately Niall assumes, makes a show of nuzzling into Harry’s neck. He looks away the tips of his ears burning from discomfort and embarrassment. Louis must’ve spotted them because he’s tripping over his own two feet walking over to him, Eoghan at his side.

“Niall, my boy, let’s drink up!” he cheers taking the glass of tepid beer from Eoghan’s hand earning a ‘ _hey that was mine_ ’.

Niall chugs it down anyway seeing how Harry is otherwise occupied. “We should do shots,” Eoghan suggest his eyes twinkling. “Don’t you have work tomorrow?” Niall asks worried.

“Shut up, it’s your night to celebrate,” placing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. Louis mimics him and does the same to his right one, “Lou, cheating on Liam? Where’s the lad anyway?”

“Went home with Belle. Said she should be in bed,” he slurs. But the discussion catches Harry’s attention, “You. You and Liam?”

His eyebrows are raised in mock horror, eyes blown wide and he’s likes one of those memes on the internet. Even his big ass head looks funny.

The scarf tied to hold his hair back nothing but an accessory. From top to bottom he’s wearing black, tight jeans curving his arse nicely and a black V-neck along a black blazer. The only color being the silk red and blue scarf around his hair. Niall might be checking him and he can’t even blame the drunken haze for it – he’s had less than a cup of alcohol.

“Where have you been?” Louis teeters bringing Niall back from his otherwise fleeing thoughts.

“So, shots?” Eoghan breaks in again and this time Xander says, “There’s a plaque over there.” He vaguely gestures to the path down where the bar is across the archway, “It has Niall’s name on it with record time of 15 shots says something about Harry too. Wanna beat it. Horan, what say?”

Niall can see the mischief in his eyes, he doesn’t trust this man with a single bone in his body but his tongue already has him betrayed, “Be prepared to get your arse kicked in true Irish fashion.”

Harry’s lips twitch uncomfortably, eyes desperately pleading for this not to go through, Louis adds fire to the fuel, “What’s the wager?”

“100 quids,” Niall quips and Xander cackles. “That’s it? Fine then. For me it’s 100 quids _and_ Harry kisses the winner,” he adds subsequently.

“What the fuck?” Harry says aloud. “I’m not some fucking trophy to be won,” Harry protests.

Xander ducks, “Chill out, babe. ‘s just a game. Besides I’m gonna win.” He presses his lips to Harry’s chastely, but Harry pulls back furious. “Fine then,” he looks Niall dead in the eye, “Niall you better win.”

“No fucking way,” Louis hollers from his side and Eoghan pushes back ordering the drinks while Xander stands there stumped and confused.

“Alright,” Niall acquiesces, confused himself.

They line up the shots on an empty pool table in the back corner everyone now once again surrounding them, the pressure feels different this time though, and Niall feels like he _has_ to win. Not for himself. But for the pouting boy who’s sulking next to Louis. Though the shift in the air doesn’t go unnoticed, he sees how Louis is letting Harry lean onto his shoulder – Tomlinson might be far drunk than Niall thought he was.

“The rules are clear gentleman. Last record was 39 seconds 15 shots whoever beats that first is the new champ if you’re unable to win in a lesser time – either of you – the win automatically goes to Niall since he’s the reigning champ. So on the count of three,” Eoghan announces.

“No way in hell you’re winning tonight,” Xander challenges.

“Is that what you say every time you lose a lacrosse game or is there a special mantra you chant?” Niall jeers, eliciting a scowl out of his opponent. He’s proper mad now.

“Alright, let’s keep it classy boys, “Eoghan warns.

“Sorry,” Niall mumbles, but Xander doesn’t give two shits tonight, “I would if your friend would stop eye-fucking my boyfriend for one solid second.”

Niall flinches at the crass accusation not daring to see the look on Harry’s face. This isn’t good. Harry doesn’t likes being dealt as a property – no one does. Why the fuck is he with this arsehole?

Eoghan rolls his eyes signaling he’s about to start the countdown, “1, 2, 3”

Niall races to finish but 14 shots in with 30 seconds to the clock he slows down, catches a glimpse of Harry with his thumb and forefinger twisting his bottom lip intently watching them with furrowed brows and he thinks it’s wrong. This isn’t how he’s supposed to win him back. The thought of winning him back is striking enough for him to lose concentration a buzzer going off somewhere in the room but Niall’s too fixated on the boy with the slumped shoulders and the pretty hair. Funny how when it’s hardest he realizes what he wants most.

On the far end of the pool table Xander grunts, “Yeah! Told ya I’d win!”

Niall couldn’t give a flying fuck but Harry looks like someone told him he can’t visit Barbara and her bakery during his annual visits to Holmes Chapel. A baby fawn abandoned by his mother or something. Fucking Bambi. That’s what he looks like.

The several comparisons in his head run short when Xander tries to walk towards him but Harry’s already leaving, his eyes falling to the floor excusing his way out of the throng of people. Niall sighs Louis coming to his side, “why did you do that? He was counting on you?”

“Didn’t feel right. He’s not a trophy,” Niall says just as Harry had and it’s true. They’ve had their ups and downs but to Niall Harry is still immensely important even if he sometimes makes him want to silence everything around them. Niall follows after them to make sure everything is okay.

Outside its breezy, not cold anymore that it’s May, a slight gust of wind hitting him in the face as he opens the door. The streets are lightened by luminescent bulbs suspended on top of streetlamps along the cobble stone pathway, the rocks digging into the sole of his worn out boots, and he hears the broken voice which throws him off kilter, “You are a fucking asshole.”

“Oh stop overreacting. You’ve done much worse and I haven’t had a say in it so why act all prissy and wound up now?” Xander spits back.

Niall feels guilty intruding and he’s stepping over the step when he hears it, “You cheated on me! Not once but twice! And _I_ took you back then why the fuck are you going parading around like I owe you something?”

Niall can’t see Harry from where he’s standing but can see Xander facing the wall and then he raises his hand. Niall’s heart thumps hard and loud. Without thinking twice he lurches forward shouting, “Hey! What the hell are you doing?”

Harry is in fact _not_ pressed to the wall. He’s on the other side and Niall just couldn’t see him, his cheeks feel like they’re on fire and he mouths a lowly, “oh.”

Xander bitterly laughs, “Oh look who it is. What did you think I was going to hit him?”

Niall stays stoned. The words aren’t coming to him and Harry’s look of regret is making him paler by the second, “Mate, think you should take whatever you have going here home. Public confrontations are always ugly.”

“There’s no need,” Harry speaks up from behind Xander. “We’re pretty much done here, Niall.”

Harry walks past his boyfriend, “I’ll go home with you yeah?”

Niall’s promptly nodding turning back towards the front door when Xander groans frustrated, “Oh my fucking god. I fucking knew it. It was you wasn’t it? It was you who he stayed with and _you gave him the hickey_.”

Niall rolls his eyes thoroughly annoyed by the entire situation and his accidental involvement in it, “Listen whatever you’re saying and thinking is under the pre-”

 But Xander cuts him off, “You’ve been fucking him behind my back and you parade around being innocent?”

Niall wants to something but Harry’s faster, “We broke up. Do you remember? Or should I refresh your memory with what’s her name’s pictures?”

Niall’s head is spinning and he finds himself gripping onto Harry’s wrist, “Let’s go, Haz. No point in arguing.”

The last thing he hears before Xander drives a punch towards him is “where do you think you’re going?”

The older man’s fist collides against the socket of his eye making him stagger backwards, a yelp coming out of Harry in the form of his name by his side, the force of the contact resonating down to his spine. He’s suddenly fairly light headed. He forgot to have lunch and now dinner.

He’s off kilter, his knees wobbling a bit due to the strong contact but Harry catches him bringing an arm around his waist all the while gasping out his name, “Niall!”

The starry sky above his head grounds him again, he shakes his head a bit trying to shake off the pressure, and looks up, “’S fine. I’m fine.” He hopes Harry hears him can hear him trying to make sense but everything is hazy and has slowed down and Harry is marching towards Xander - after carefully letting Niall lean against the wall – pushing his chest back, “What is wrong with you? He didn’t even touch you!”

Niall’s brain goes in overdrive there are hands everywhere and he sees Xander pushing Harry back forcefully still fuming with anger so he lets out a wail, “Harry!”

He treks towards the pair angrily pulling Harry by the wrist again but he can hear the front door opening behind them, a familiar high-pitched voice breaking, “Oh my god, what did you do?”

Louis, Eoghan and Sean rush by his side trying to pry Niall’s hands off of Xander’s collar – when did he even have a hold of him?

“Niall, leave him it’s not worth it,” Eoghan advises picking at his fist but Niall’s adamantly standing his ground.

“This asshole tried to hurt, Haz, I’m fucking gonna --” he doesn’t finishes because Xander spits in his face. “Popstar’s first rodeo ain’t it? Fucking prick can’t even throw a punch without having his posse of posh friends come to his rescue?”

“Honestly, mate, if you don’t shut the fuck up right now I’ll be the one beating your arse out of Ireland,” Eoghan threatens still struggling to loosen Niall’s hold meanwhile Sean pulls Xander back. Eventually, he recedes letting go of the older man’s t-shirt and wiping the saliva off his face, “It would be best if you leave now.”

Louis had left them mid-conversation to run back in to grab an ice pack, he walks back out at the burnt end of things, the pack securely gripped in his hands. Xander looks past Niall at a very mute, stiffened, Harry, “Don’t bother coming back to the hotel and as for your stuff I hope you brought your damn wallet with you.”

He swaggers off the sidewalk onto the road to where his car is parked a little ways down the street, the rush hour has died down so there are barely any cars crossing the roads, everything quieter, more serene. Niall sways sideways knocking his shoulder into Eoghan’s chest, his arm protectively curling around him, but Niall steadies himself to look at Harry. He slogs towards Harry the piercing pain around his eye increasing tenfold, and brushes his cheeks with the knuckles of his hand, “you okay?”

Harry knits his eyebrows together, frowning, “Niall, he hit _you_ , _”_ it’s a hushed whisper, inaudible to the people staring at them, “are _you_ okay?”

Niall nods feeling faint and falling into Harry’s arms. It’s been a long day. He closes his eyes as the other boy wraps his arms around him gently.

\--

Liam is looking at him with a mix of pity and guilt like he’s the reason why he has an ugly blue bruise around his eye, “Li, could you stop lookin’ at me like that. ‘S freaking me out.”

“Sorry,” he says biting his lip and sitting at the end of his bed. “He really did a number on you didn’t he?”

Louis looks up from where he’s sitting next to Niall tickling belle’s exposed tummy, her soft skin under his fingertips, “what every guy wants to hear, Liam. Do you have no sense of decorum?”

Liam puffs up his cheeks acting affronted, “I was just saying.”

Niall depress the ice pack on his eye the tingly cold sensation sending a wave of relief through his body – he’s bloody exhausted and hungry. Mostly hungry. “’S alright, Li. Wasn’t your fault.”

The room is warm pleasantly so with blankets gathered around him like he needs to be pampered. The curtains are also pulled in with no sight of the outside view making Niall anxious like he’s closed in and can’t exactly get out. He pushes the comforter off of him, cautious of the ends not hitting Belle and gets up to pull the curtains.

He pushes them aside permitting the sunlight to stream in. “What are you doing?” a low voice has him turning to find Harry standing in the doorway with a tray in hand. Niall spots some biscuits, a cuppa, and a bowl of steaming liquid and buttered toast. He’s famished.

“Wanted to open up the curtain,” Niall explains treading back into bed. “You don’t hav’ta coddle me.”

“Am not,” he’s saying immediately. “You’re hurt.”

“He got socked in the eye didn’t have an appendectomy, relax,” Louis teases, blowing raspberries onto belle’s tummy. She gleefully plays with him trying to fist up his hair in her small hands. Niall is back in bed now, he bends over and pokes her cheeks, “He’s right.”

“Whatever, I’m still worried and I made soup for you idiots so can you at least pretend to be sick for _my_ sake, Niall?” Harry grouses, his lips jutting out accordingly and Niall can’t help but tamp down a smile of his. He just looks at him longingly causing a faint red brush to be splattered across Harry’s cheeks making him duck his head.

“Oh Jesus,” Liam says looking in-between them. “Tommo!”

Louis promptly looks up in between them – them still busy having a staring tête-à-tête– and makes a gagging noise, “Good lord, there’s a child in the room. Keep your bedroom eyes away from my angel.”

Niall’s cheeks heat up at the accusation while Harry feigns offense setting the tray in Niall’s lap and bending over to tap the baby’s forehead, “You were literally cussing up a storm _in front_ of her about two hours ago! You hypocrite!”

Harry’s too close, his scent wafting Niall’s way setting his emotions and senses off the rocker. He tries to focus on the food placed on his lap, breathing in the delicious smell of the stock and burnt toast but Harry has him distracted.

“Haz,” he musters. “Could you maybe go on the other side and play with the babe? Trying to eat here.”

Harry turns to him grinning, “Ok!”

“Oh, no,” Louis protests, swaddling her into her own blanket. “Stay away from my child Styles I can’t have her thinking Kale is a food group.”

“She’s 8 months old, Lou. You’re being ridiculous,” Liam laughs, rolling over the edge and standing up to walk next to his. His boyfriend. It feels so surreal sitting here in his room with four people who have helped him through everything in his life, who have somehow stuck through, become an inextricable component that is hard to untangle now.

Harry doesn’t even pay heed to Louis’ remarks walks over to his side and flops down next to the tiny creature who seems to have pulled in all his attention, and without a second thought he hums, “ _hey angel do you look up at the sky?”_

The entire room stills. Niall looks at Liam who’s just as shocked as Louis and Louis at Niall who isn’t moving and Harry croons the rest of the chorus unaware of his ex-bandmates’ change in demeanor. The babe giggles and he presses a kiss on top of her forehead, lifting his head and looking through his eyelashes at Niall, “Guess her favorite is ‘Hey Angel’?”

Niall frowns deeply. “Harry,” he starts but Louis cuts him off.

“You can’t come prancing in here, in _our_ home, and bring up something we had to let go,” Louis sneers, but he’s calm not mad as usual. There is bite to his words but no venom – no long-lasting effect. Niall sneaks a hand to Louis’ wrist that’s lying idle next to his pillow as he sits against the headboard and winding two of his fingers around it. “Harry, Haz.”

He hasn’t used that nickname since 2012; since the Larry thing blew out of proportion; since they had to pretend to be friends who weren’t; and somewhere along the way they even forgot if they were.

 “We’re not blaming you nor are we mad,” he tries to reason, using his hands to gesture his point across. Harry’s listening on intently his face blank but Niall can see the cogs turning in his head, can see the slight twitch of his eye and the way he’s chewing on his gums. “But if you’re gonna wad in and out of our lives we have to know, we need to know you’re not a constant. I have children to raise and am in a steady and more than likely long-term relationship. Can’t have my children asking for an uncle that’s never willing to stay y’know?”

Louis looks forth at Liam eyes all crinkly and cheeks raised high and the other lad is smiling back, “Long term.”

The words are resounding and both leave after that, Louis tucking Belle in his arms and ruffling Harry’s hair before he’s out the door, Liam stops momentarily squeezing Harry’s shoulder as a ‘ _I’m sorry this must be hard_ ’ but leaves right after too.

Harry lets his face fall flat onto the comforter mumbling against it, “you can say your part too. Get it out and be done with it. Wanna kick me out? You can do so too!”

Niall tilts his head and thinks he’s burned out the flame that had been lighting the anger, the bitterness. Now there’s only one thing left. “Lou said I can’t do anymore promo cause seeing the black-eye isn’t exactly _positive_ so was thinking going up to Galway.”

Harry jerks his head up his eyebrows shooting to his hairline, his mouth parted in the form of a question, so Niall answers, “Yeah, I want you to come with if you want. Also, plan on visiting the Cliffs of Moher been wanting to visit ever since we went to Belfast.”

Harry brings up his knee onto the bed to crawl to Niall’s side, the food now cold but still edible, and sits up on his knees pointing a finger to his own chest, “You want me to travel with you?”

“Yeah-uh,” Niall says with a click of his tongue. “Obviously, you can’t take Louis with his child and Liam? Do you even think his arse can even leave Louis alone for one second? They are so sickeningly co-dependent I’m having heart palpitations thinking about it.”

Harry rubs his bottom lip with his thumb thinking deeply, “True.”

“So?”

“Yes! Let’s go! When?”

“How about tomorrow? Could book a train ticket to Galway then drive down to the Cliffs from there?” Niall suggests, picking up his phone from the table and thumbing his calendar app. He clears out the following week adding ‘ _galway + mohers’_ under a new event and closes out of it. Then he sends out an email to Jennifer and Mindy about his cancellations. Harry watches him do so biting down his bottom lip and Niall doesn’t even find it intrusive like he usually does when people look at his phone, instead he nudges Harry’s shoulder, “wouldja be useful and go get your laptop so we can book the tickets?”

Harry is hurriedly getting out the door while Niall takes a sip of the cold soup and smiles to himself. It tastes good.

\--

“I swear you two are morphing into one another the more I look at it, the matching scarfs and that ugly ass shirt, Niall, I can’t believe you’re going on vacation mid-promo season like I know you can’t exactly be out in public with that nasty bruise but like what the fuck?” Louis rambles into his ear while he’s busy checking the front pocket of his carry on to see if he packed his toothbrush and flossing kit – he pats the bottom one and feels the protruding shape sliding his hand in feeling out the item. It’s his toothbrush bag. Good.

Liam kisses the shell of Louis’ ear bringing him in easily while cradling Belle in the other, “Babe, it’s just for four days. They’ll be fine.”

Louis grunts unpleased, “he’s taking the king of twats with him too!”

“Hey!” Harry voices, “I’m great company I’ll have you know.”

“10 bucks say you’ll die from Harry’s boring talk and will run off the train before it even takes off,” Louis challenges making Harry puff up his chest in response.

Sadly, Niall loves Harry’s incessant chatter about the most mindless and deadbeat topics. He could be reading him the dictionary word by word and he’ll be fine but no one other than him has to know that Harry’s tid-bits make his day immensely better.

The train ride passes by fairly quickly, 3 hours and 20 mins spent leaning his head against the pole while Harry’s is on his shoulder, eyes closed snoring away. Their hands are sitting idle in their own laps but Niall kind of wants to reach over and entwine their fingers. Once the conductor calls out their stop the train coming to a stop he gently presses the pad of his thumb on the inside of Harry’s thigh, rubbing it and softly whispering, “Harry, we’re here.”

He stirs awake goofily smiling at Niall and saying, “Ready Indiana Jones?”

Maybe Louis was right. It’s going to be hell of a trip.

\--

Galway is a harbor city on the west coast of Ireland surrounded by Irish folk music and stone clad traditional Irish pubs. It’s not too big but is a heavily touristy area where people from all over the world come to visit and experience the Irish culture. Niall for one is buzzing.

“Niall, do you think we should go right or left? This map isn’t very clear but I’m about 90% sure that if turn right we can get to the castle,” Harry says holding up the giant piece of paper with streets and legends and bullets marking important locations.

“Harry, care to explain why we’re using a map when we both have phones with GPS?” Niall eggs.

“Well, Niall.  Cause it adds character makes it more _authentic_ ,” he says obviously. Niall narrows his eyes at him following the cobblestone pathway they’ve been walking on, “Alright, well I say right since the fucking river is at our left.” He points at the body of water on the left to him and Harry nods his head approvingly, “Good thinking knew I brought you for a reason!”

“I brought you!” Niall huffs hastily after him as Harry turns the corner.

\--

Harry raises his head fixedly staring at the walls before him. The 75 foot tower stands making them seem small, miniature. Unimportant. Niall zooms out of the picture he’s been trying to take for the past 10 minutes, not getting a right angle, and walks backwards to look at the massive grey concrete structure. Harry is cemented to his spot a few steps ahead of him so Niall changes his picture idea, shifts a little to side and clicks a picture of Harry’s back – the castle in the background, of course.

“Do you think the people who made this were proud of the outcome? Like they looked at it after and were like ‘ _yeah we did a good job_ ’?” Harry asks out loud to no one in particular.

“Maybe,” Niall says but the question doesn’t seem answered, doesn’t even seem like it was about the castle, thinks the abysmal emotions buried deep are finally scratching the surface.

“But even if they didn’t,” he continues walking over to where Harry is standing – side by side now. He hooks his pinky finger with Harry’s the other making the motion of looking down at their hooked fingers, “we can. _For them_.”

 

niallhoran: _dunguaire castle with the best !_

\--

“Are you sure you’re reading it right?” Niall grabs the coffee cup from the divider and takes a sip of it. The scalding liquid burns his throat but does the job of keeping him awake, the bitterness of it keeping him alert and focused behind the wheel. Harry sips on his own caramel macchiato, “There is literally one way out of her Niall. You have to pass the turn off Doolin and then we should we be good.”

“I swear if we’re lost cause of you you’re sleeping on the road tonight,” Niall warns but Harry smirks wide turning to face him. “You would never.”

He can’t help but blush at that. He would never.

The Cliffs are unlike anything he imagined, thought they’d just be rocks looking out onto the ocean but this isn’t that. This is _different_.

Harry squats down on the ground crossing his legs and leaning back on the palms of his hands. They’re both wearing shorts, his own khakis (which he bought on Harry’s insistence on the way here) and Harry in jean shorts, topped with simple black and white t-shirts and backpacks. They look like proper tourist in their twinning outfits save Harry’s puke green – it’s an ugly color but you know how that goes with Harry, nothing is _exactly_ ugly on him – scarf wrapped around his head.

The water is calm serving as some sort of testament to the impending storm – there’s always a storm, Niall figures. The blue is radiant though, bright and loud and demanding attention. Niall wonders if his eyes can faithfully duplicate the colors if he’s close enough, if he reaches forward and blends into it, but that’s a long way down. A long long way down.

The sky on the other hand makes a sport of showing off its vivid colors, the hues of orange melting into the soft blue with specks of white and tan respectfully trading places. Niall ponders over the question Harry had asked at the castle, _are they proud?_ The universe, did it stop to think and take itself in?

“We can for it,” he settles on.

“What?” Harry asks from where he is seated. Niall turns around walking to him and crouching down, laying his bad knee flat against the ground and letting the good one support his weight. He reaches a hand out and Harry promptly leans in, Niall’s hand grazing his cheek.

Harry speaks up when Niall doesn’t say anything, just rubs his thumb on his skin, “ready to head home?”

“Already am,” Niall says.

\--

The drive back to their hotel in Galway is essentially quiet with Harry softly snoring, head against the window. He had promised to drive them back but Niall had known that he would’ve gotten tired so instead he tunes the radio to a channel that isn’t static and hums along to Irish folk tunes while Harry sleeps.

When they get to the hotel it’s already night time and they’re proper knackered the sun having set fucking with their energy. They both walk to their separate hotel rooms mumbling goodbyes but Harry doesn’t walk in, hand stone on the handle, “can I sleep in your room?”

“Only if you take a shower first. Ya stink,” Niall jokes, not offering the empty space next to him a second thought. “Stop! You’re sweaty too,” Harry laughs and goes into his own room.

Niall leaves his doors slightly ajar in case Harry is done showering before him – it would be otherwise dangerous to do that but there are like two other people on their floor and no one has yet to stop him and Harry so he takes his chances in recognition.

He jumps into the shower, warm water beating down on his sore muscles relaxing them. He lathers the body wash onto him rubbing it down his legs and chest and then puts some shampoo in his hair. His skin is tinged pink as the water spills out of the showerhead loosening the knots he feels compressing him down.

He doesn’t want to but his thoughts stray anyway to Harry next door showering just like him. He doesn’t want to but he thinks of how the younger boy had so easily agreed to come along with him – no questions asked. He doesn’t want to but he thinks about how the other boy has been on a roll with how much he loves what Niall is doing and how he adores his music, his words saying music Niall hearing him. He doesn’t want but he thinks about how for the first time in years he can say he doesn’t know what’s going in Harry’s life.

But he wants to. So, he decides to he will. He twists the knob the showerhead stopping and pushing the shower curtain aside grabbing the towel hanging on the rack and pulling it around his waist.

The mirror is a little foggy so he wipes it down with his forearm seeing his reflection. The surface of his chest is pink, almost red, his face sporting a similar color but it’s his lips parted slightly that are wine red. He bites them down and breathes in.

Harry’s in his bed scratching his stomach looking at his phone, clad in boxers, with an arm raised over his head, and body resting against the headboard limply, when he gets out.

“You were done quickly,” Niall notes the ends of his are still wet but he looks fresh. Clean.

Harry hums in affirmation not looking up so Niall goes to dressing. He picks up a boxer and cotton t-shirt from the pile in his carry on and first pulls the shirt on, slinking the boxers under his towel but Harry says, “you know I’ve seen you commando before. No need to decent up for me now.”

The fierce blush spreads to the tip of his ears, burning his cheeks, “Shut up.”

Harry just laughs but Niall can feel his eyes on him so he does what’s best and drops the towel and pulls on the boxer – has his back to Harry.

“Nice bum,” Harry says once he flips the comforter to get under it.

He rolls his eyes running a hand through his own wet hair, letting the tips fall to his forehead, and finally says, “How’ve you been?”

Harry lays down rolling over to Niall’s side looking up at him as he sits straight, “Good. ‘m good.”

“Harry…” he drawls not meaning to push just to let Harry know he’s willing to listen and as always Harry gets it. They always get one another.

“I, I stopped writing for a bit after the hiatus. But now…Now I’m writing again and it’s good. Think I’ve found my inspiration again and maybe like. Like I think it’s been such a creative process writing on your own and discovering yourself and all – as pretentious it may sound to your ears – I think I want to perform? But not yet. Wanna hold it off until I’m ready. And, you already know the _other thing_.”

Niall doesn’t ask when just hooks his pinky to Harry’s while it’s still in mid-air and brings their hands down. Harry talks with his hands, he’s so animated when he does so, trying to grapple with his words but using his body to describe what he’s trying to articulate. Niall gets it. Loves it.

Harry eyes the entwined fingers and then up again, “Thanks.”

Niall has it at the tip of his tongue, the query about the anonymous song he had received, of how it made the album, what Harry thinks of it, but in its stead he asks, “What song did you like the best?”

“For you,” Harry says gleefully. Niall subdues a smile biting down on his bottom lip wondering that maybe Harry knows. It is what it is.

Niall turns off the lamp rolling over to his side and Harry to his, the distance between them antagonizing, so he does what he wants. Rolls over and scoots closer to Harry lining his chest to the other’s back. Harry dips into him comfortably, Niall throwing a hand over with their legs becoming a tangled mess and their hands joined.

Niall sleeps quite well that night.

\--

‘So, small dates around UK / Ireland? Or do we want to start with America and then come back home?” Louis mouth’s into the speaker of the phone on the other side of the line. Niall can faintly hear the children wailing in the background and Liam fussing on about diapers and takeout food and management meeting. What an odd bunch.

Niall whisks the batter one last time and pours a bit onto the heated pan, “Think we could go America last? Start with familiar y’know? ‘Sides, don’t want many shows there, busking here and there and shall be good.”

“Niall, your album has been number one on iTunes for the past 4 weeks this is some swift kind of shit you can’t just get away with ‘busking’,” Louis mocks.

“That good,” he says, “Alright, 12 shows max.”

“!2? Fuc- I mean, are you serious? Okay, fine. Twelve shows. One be it at MSG then.”

“Wait, really?” he is surprised, flipping over the light brown pancake to its other side. He moves over to the fridge taking out the maple syrup, “that’s bloody brilliant.”

“Wonderful, see ya on Tuesday for Roch’s annual dinner.”

“You’re invited?”

“Just because I have a child doesn’t mean I can’t pull off your head. No one said so,” Louis warns hanging up.

He laughs, sliding the phone on the counter and checks the last of his pancake, flipping it over into the stack he’s already made.

“Smells great,” Harry walks in. He’s wearing Niall’s FC Barcelona jersey and that’s all. Fucking hell. How did he even find it?

His mouth runs dry as he chokes out a, “Yeah.”

Harry takes a seat opposite to on the island which thank bloody hell cover his thighs. Out of sight out of mind. Except not really. “Do we have any plans for today?”

“Well, Harold, I have a babysitting gig. Bobby is bringing Theo over cause it’s Greg’s date night and he needed someone to look after him and Bobby _also_ has a date night so I’m gonna be watching sesame street on repeat this evening,” Niall explains.

Harry laughs into his bite of the floppy syrup drenched pancake, choking a bit and covering it with a sip of orange juice.

“What?” Niall demands.

“Your dad and brother are gonna get laid tonight meanwhile you’re nannying,” Harry guffaws doubling over and slapping his knee. His dimples are digging deep into his cheeks and his sleep filled eyes are now crinkling shut and Niall can’t even fake being mad joining in laughing and crumpling up a ball of tissue, throwing it Harry’s way.

“’S ok, I’ll help,” he offers.

“Who told you I was letting you off the hook you freeloader?” Niall laughs eating his breakfast.

\--

Bobby rings his doorbell right at 6:00 PM with a Theo holding his hand and a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, he pushes the bag in Niall’s arm no greeting beforehand and says, “this has everything he needs for the sleepover, clothes, spare clothes, night clothes, shoes, his favorite stuffed animal, a list of things he’s allergic to, in the words Denise Horan _no peanuts_!”

Niall nods his head dumbly looking between his father and Theo who’s straight up cheesing at him, he offers his index finger and he happily takes it switching to Niall’s side, “Oh, don’t forget bed time lullaby is that song you wrote.”

Harry appears out of the shower, towel wrapped around his head, fitting between Niall and the door, “TEMPORARY FIX?”

Niall slaps his head getting an ‘ _ow_ ’ out of him, “No you idiot. Don’t forget where you belong.”

“Oh, right. Hello Bobby,” he greets his Da and Niall swears Bobby smiles thrice as big seeing Harry. This is ridiculous his dad is happier to see his best mate than himself, “are we doing dinner on Sunday then, Harry?”

“Yes, of course! But for now you should get going to your hot date,” he winks and Bobby shakes his head fondly. “See ya lads,” he says getting into the car and driving off.

Niall mumbles, closing the door Theo still holding onto his finger, “You have dinner plans with me Da without me?” Harry purses his lips, “Don’t be jealous.”

Niall can’t even protest and Harry is bending over pulling his hand out for Theo to shake, “Hello, little man, remember me? I’m your uncle Harry!”

“You’re not his uncle,” Niall reminds but Harry continues ignoring him entirely, “How are you?”

Theo gives him one look and turns to Niall, “why are his eyes so big, Uncle Niall?”

Niall splutters into laughter and Harry jerks up affronted, “Cause he’s a cartoon, Theo. We call him Harry the muppet. Huppet.”

Theo coos, “Hello Huppet!”

Harry narrows his eyes, tight lipped, “I hate you.”

Theo isn’t exactly as easy to babysit as Niall had thought especially now that he has two people’s attention to feed off of. The first few hours go great, they play some games, have a small snack – crackers with cheese and jam courtesy of Huppet, Theo even thanks him – but then the late hour of eight kicks in. The boredom looms over them and Theo decides that he needs to torture Niall and Harry to the end of their wits. First he runs off to the Laundry room pressing close to a million buttons on the washer – of course Harry had left his wash in there.

“Nooooooooooooo,” he yells, “You mixed the colors with the whites! My shirts are gonna come out looking like a circus of clowns!”

Niall tries to tactfully approach Theo, “Yeah well that’s your fault. Who told you to leave them in together?” He turns to the babe, “Thee, come on lets go in the living room? We can do something fun.”

“There’s nothing fun to do! I wanna stay here and see Huppet cry,” Theo giggles.

Harry pinches up his face in offense, pouting and frowning, “Come on Thee, you can help uncle Niall cook?”

“Okay!” he cheers, bouncing up and down. Niall picks him up passing Harry but not before sticking his tongue out and then whispering, “Mr. I’m best with kids.”

It’s like karma has a personal vendetta against him because as soon as he says that to Harry Theo drools over the collar of his shirt, devilishly beaming, “Oops.”

He settles Theo on the stool and turns to get a bowl when Harry comes following, “I’m gonna take out the trash.”

Niall nods and Theo says, “Bye bye!”

“Ok, Thee how about I get you a bowl and you mix stuff yeah? We can cook some yummy food together,” Niall tells him.

Theo cheers, “Yay!”

It takes less than a second for him to turn and extract a bowl from the top cabinet of his stove but it’s enough for Theo to slip out of his watchful gaze. Niall turns to find the stool empty and he drops the plastic bowl on the ground trying to find the child, Harry comes whistling in, “where’s Theo?”

His eyes must be wild, stress gripping onto him suddenly as he croaks, “I don’t know he was just...”

Harry gets it and starts calling out for his name and that’s when they hear the front door shut. They both pause and look at each other, “He got out!”

Niall rushes out the door, his driveway empty and starts walking down the pavement, looking frantically for a blonde head of hair with Harry fast on his trails, they bellow out his name and look in the neighbor’s driveway and their swing set but alas he isn’t there.

Niall can’t believe he let this happen. He has never felt more anxious with his heart beating erratically in his chest drowning out the surrounding noises, he is close to tearing up when Harry shakes him, “Niall, listen, it will be fine. I’m going to run down the street and check at the park okay? Niall, okay? Niall!”

He can’t answer and is hyperventilating, terrible scenarios running a course in his head as his breathing starts to uneven, he can’t focus on anything. Harry grabs his hand and drags him along chanting repeatedly, “We’re gonna find him. I promise we’ll find him.”

And they do. In the park as Harry had said so. He’s standing next to the merry-ground spinning it and smiling at it gleefully, Niall pulls out of Harry’s grips and dashes toward him, “Theo!”

The boy looks up opening his arms, “Uncle Niall, look what I found!”

Almost instantaneously Niall picks him up nestling him to his chest, his hand pressed to the nape of his neck as he mouths into his ears, “I’m sorry, petal. I’m so sorry.”

Theo pulls back knitting his eyebrows together at the tears trailing down Niall’s cheek and uses his heels of his palms to wipe them, “Uncle Niall, don’t cry! I’m fine look!”

He points at his chest and then wipes the tears again, kissing the chub of Niall’s left cheek, “I love you, Uncle Niall. Don’t cry.”

Harry stays a little ways behind them as they walk back to the house, Niall’s hold strong on Theo, and mostly silent. When they’re back in he makes sure to lock the doors and bends down to look at Theo, “how about you go into the playroom?”

“Okay! I’ll play with the dinosaurs,” he skips away disappearing into the long hallway. He sighs, relieved and turns to Harry who’s standing mute.

“That was a scare wasn’t it?” Harry jokes, rubbing the nape of his neck.

“Understatement of the day,” Niall complies.

“We are never having kids,” Harry laughs and then abruptly stops realizing what he’s said. “I mean, by ‘ _we’_ I meant us individually, I mean it could be together too but like not together not that I’m saying we’re together but like kids, you can stop me any day now,” he trips over his words and Niall is so endeared and Harry’s right they’re not together but it feels like it especially when Harry had held his wrist tight.

He strides towards him closing the distance between them, stretching his hand to the incline of Harry’s jaw, cupping it tight. Their noses bump together as they lean in further, their foreheads touching. They breathe in each other’s air, Harry lowly muttering, “Hey there.”

Niall brushes his nose against Harry’s again, finally tipping his head up, and placing a soft kiss to his lips. Their lips move numbly against one another until they pull apart, breathless and grinning, “Dinner.”

Niall says too, “Dinner.”

Dinner is chicken parmesan which Theo loves and Harry groans over more than once. It’s pretty embarrassing but Niall lets it slide because it has Theo laughing. Once they’ve put away all the dirty dishes and Niall has given Theo a shower, the two of them get into bed, and the little one says, “Are you gonna read me a bedtime story?”

Niall picks up the book off the counter when there is a knock on his door, and Theo jumps excitedly, “Huppet! Hi!”

Harry’s stands there in his shorts and black shirt – wait, that’s also Niall’s – biting his lips and says, “Can I like… sleep maybe?”

Theo is speaking before Niall, “Do you wanna sleep with us?”

Harry nods.

“Ok, but promise not to snore? Uncle Niall doesn’t like that.”

“Promise,” Harry crosses his heart and climbs into bed with them. Niall fixes his eyes on the book and Theo says, “I can’t believe you’re afraid of the monsters. You’re really a Huppet, aren’t you?”

Theo is staring imploringly at Harry with his big blue eyes and Niall can’t stifle his laugh any longer, letting out a loud, unabashed guffaw, and seeing the way Harry’s cheek turn pink has him laughing even more. “Yeah, something like that,” Harry mumbles, looking at Niall.

\--

Niall wraps his arms around Harry’s waist, his silk black shirt with white stripes riding up a bit, laying his palms flat against the taut muscles of his stomach. His chest perfectly lined to Harry’s back as he sautés the strips of chicken and garlic – the tantalizing smell Niall’s stomach growl.

He roams his hands over the curve of Harry’s abs, bringing them down and squeezing his love handles, and planting a small kiss to the juncture between his neck and shoulder where the shirt is loosely hanging, “Smells good.”

“Niall,” Harry groans pushing back into him but they’re interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Niall immediately takes off his hands and spins around, hands flailing everywhere as he faces his father.

“Da!” his voice breaks, hoarse from sleep still. “What are you doing here? Urm, I mean, Greg picked Theo up this morning.”

He can feel Harry shuddering while he suppresses from laughing out loud, Niall himself can’t help but feel the corners of his lips turn up all the while his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink.

“You forgot to pack his jumper just here to pick it up,” Bobby has him arms crossed and his eyes vacant. Niall suddenly is more aware than he should be, “Alright, yeah let me get that.”

Before leaving he pinches Harry’s thigh not to tease but to let him know that he’s here if the need arises. He walks up the staircase where his room is and spots the purple jumper on the bean bag, tossed away to the side, he picks it up and starts heading down when he hears the chatter trickling in through the kitchen.

“’M saying this because I know and have the privilege to say I _know_ you too. You’ve been here for over a month or so, and in the meantime he’s gone about to London and done work stuff, even had studio time, and you’ve still been here waiting, kinda uncanny,” Bobby notes.

Niall shouldn’t intrude but he’s been wanting to ask the same question, them dying in his throat every time he finds Harry about the house doing chores or watching telly – it all seems very _domestic_.

There is a clinking of glasses and Harry’s speaking, “Figured he’d waited for so long so it’s time I made him stop. Give him what he deserves.’S a long time been due.”

“And what’s that?”

Niall walks in right at that moment not willing to let anyone else hear the words that come out of Harry’s mouth next, “Found it!”

\--

_“Solo artist gigs sometimes turn out to be the Achilles heel for various boybanders once they decide to launch themselves into the music industry – many in the past have failed. However, one person who will not be making that abysmal list is Niall Horan, 23, formerly known as the Irish one from One Direction. With his debut album, SON, being released in April he’s yet to have a downwards incline in sales. Not only that but every event he has attended thereafter or beforehand he’s been an absolute delight. But let’s delve deeper into his music._

_The album itself kicks off with ‘and then we were young’ which has the kooks meet swing vibe to it, it’s retelling the story of his younger days and the how do’s of it and gives perspective and sets a statement for the remainder of the songs…”_

“4.5 out of five freaking stars from the Rolling Stones,” Louis hugs Niall while Liam pops a bottle of champagne, the cork flying out with a pop. “Horan, you’ve outdone yourself,  you’ve broken the music industry.”

Niall laughs into his shoulder pulling him tight, hands gripped around his frame and thinks Louis is the reason why any of this happened in the first place. He breathes in musky cologne and breaks apart to see the glimmer in his eyes, “Thanks, mate, couldn’t do with without you.”

“Excuse me, where’s my hug?” Liam urges and Niall hugs him next. The party that Louis is throwing in his honor or so he likes to say but in reality everyone knows it’s just Louis’ excuse to drink copious amounts of alcohol and get a night away from babysitting. Niall can swear on his mum that Louis’ a great parent sometimes he just needs a breather.

Niall feels sturdy hands on his shoulder, Harry coming behind him once he and Liam are done hugging, “I’m so proud of you.”

 “Thank you,” he saying.

\--

The summer sky is clear of clouds, only stars decorating the midnight blue, they stand out cause of the lustrous white. A couple years back, he read a book over them, how they burn and burn until they give out. The cycle of their life ending with exhaustion and Niall had thought something so massive and intangible still had an inevitable end – they all do. Kindly enough though the whole concept wasn’t morbid in the least, it was fascinating instead, how even if they all think they have done big things and made a big name they don’t really have much left in the end. Just what’s in their heart.

The pitter-patter of the roof thanks to the wind is keeping him awake, the bustling of the party still going strong. He hears the sliding doors open and shut, footsteps walking towards him and he looks back to find Eoghan, “hey.”

“What are you doing out here, Mr. Guest of honor?”

“Is Louis still on that?” Niall asks, clutching onto the metal railing. There are cacti sitting in pots in the four corners of the balcony, the same one’s Harry had bought each of them as a housewarming present. He had said it showed strength, resilience, something which they stood for. Niall’s not sure if it’s the same exact plant but he wouldn’t be surprised if Harry had sent some over after Louis bought his new house. Late fall last year.

“You love it, this and everything. Reckon’ you’ve found the missing thing? The one we talked about?” Eoghan asks him, handing Niall a bottle of beer. Niall thankfully takes it and reminisces to his pub performance earlier that month, “Yeah.”

“Can I ask something?” he says tentatively, Niall nods for him to continue, “How come Ireland? You were proper settled in London and loved it and yeah you said family and all but wasn’t London home now? Would be hell lotta easier of a commute to work.”

Niall bits down his lip, rubbing his thumb on the condensation around the cold glass bottle in his hand, “Home. Think home isn’t a place.”

The door behind them open again and a little whine comes their way, “ _ow!_ Stupid door.”

Niall finishes before Harry is by his side, his words only audible to Eoghan who is very close, “Home could be anything and anyone. And I finally have one.”

\--

Louis pushes Harry into Niall’s arms taking away the bottle of wine he’d been protectively holding close to his chest, the liquid swishing in its container with no cork to keep it from spilling out. Niall rubs Harry’s arm, “Think this means Louis is kicking us out?”

“Yes, I am. My boyfriend is well drunk and I’d like to shag him _before_ he passes out on me and _no_ that doesn’t mean it has happened before,” Louis grips onto the door closing it slowly but surely.

“Surrrrrrrrre,” Harry draws out, raising a finger, “Liam told me he once fell asleep before orgasm if you’re looking for tips I ca-”

Louis pounces at him like a wild cat and Harry shrieks back falling into Niall, “Thought so! Take your drunken boyfriend home, Niall. Or else the world is gonna lose their charming popstar.”

Harry stands straight opening his mouth to retort but Niall is placing a hand on his mouth, his warm breath making his palms sweaty, “Reckon it’s time to head home. See ya later, mate.”

Before leaving Harry turns to say, “hey, Lou.”

“What?”

“Here to stay,” and Louis is fond.

Mumbling, Harry gets in the car and Niall behind the wheel since he’s had a total of ½ a bottle of beer and even that was an hour or so ago, seems like Harry enjoyed his party more than he did – in terms of getting drunk that is.

Niall reaches over and buckles him in and in one swift movement Harry ducks and kisses his temple, “Niall.”

“Yes?” he leans back but still very close.

“Would you blow me?” Harry licks his front teeth, his eyes smiling, and Niall has to pull back. “Jesus, let me get home first.”

“But I have a better idea. How about we do it right here,” he points to his crotch, looks down and then up again at Niall imploringly.

“There is no fucking way I’m blowing you in the front seat of my car,” Niall cackles, putting a hand on the steering wheel and the other to the ignition. He starts up the car and drives out of Louis’ driveway and onto the road.

For the better part of the drive Harry doesn’t talk to Niall, not so much as turning over to look at him even when Niall tries conversation, he guesses he’s just tired. Or. No, Harry gets it. They’re rounding the left lane to drive in to their neighborhood, _Niall’s neighborhood_ , when he feels the presses of fingers on the inside of his thigh, rubbing up and down.

“What are you doing?” his eyes trained on the road but his skin burning under Harry’s touch. He can see his house.

Harry doesn’t say anything; the car is warmer than he had originally thought. He palms his way to his crotch eliciting a gasp out of Niall, “Ok, alright.”

He haphazardly parks, a poor job at that, and turns to Harry who’s smirking at him, “Fine, I’ll blow you.”

“Don’t wanna,” he says pulling back his hand and getting out of the car. Niall sits there trying to go over his words, confused, but manages to get out scurrying after Harry. “What do you mean?”

Once they’re securely inside Harry pulls off his jacket and takes off his shoes dropping them on the floor and walking towards the staircase. Niall’s neurotic cleaning habits don’t subside and he picks up the clothes as Harry takes them off. The house can’t be a mess, it just can’t.

By the time they’re in Niall’s room Harry’s only in his boxers his hands on his hips staring Niall down, “Change of plans.”

He swallows around the saliva building up in his throat, Harry walks towards him plucking the pile of clothes and discarding them to the ground, he runs his forefinger on top of Niall’s tie, “I want you to do me a favor.”

“I’m not sure you’re in any position to ask for any favor,” Niall chuckles at Harry’s poor attempt at being seductive. He’s well turned on but it doesn’t mean Harry’s a complete idiot. Harry blubbers his lips, “If you keep this up you’re not getting any tonight, Horan.”

“Wouldn’t that mean you’re not getting any either?” Niall teases to which Harry pushes his shoulder playfully. “Ok, fine. I’m going to bed. I’m preeeeeetty tired.”

Harry flips the covers, gets in them, pulling them over and Niall rolls his eyes, unbuttoning his trousers and pulling them down, discarding them on the chair to his left. He goes to remove his tie and collared shirt when Harry says, “Keep ‘em on.”

“Yeah? You have a kink, Styles?” he simpers walking over to his side and getting under the cover, his legs cold against the soft material.

“You could say,” Harry leans forward. “I’ll kiss you now.”  
“Finally,” pressing his lips to Harry’s. Niall cradles his face in the palm of his hand rubbing his jaw with the pads of his thumb, his fingers brushing the curls of his hair that hang behind his ears.

They sit there numbly making out for several minutes until Harry decides to clamber into Niall’s lap, slotting his thighs on both sides of his hips. The kisses no longer chaste as Harry desperately licks into his mouth, pressing closer and closer into his chest demanding every drop of Niall’s attention. Niall does so, moves his hands over Harry’s skin, the muscles in his back tight and flexed. Harry works with the buttons of his shirt pressing a soft kiss to the hollows between his collarbones and then to his chest, the slope of his nose rubbing his chest chair, pressing another kiss to his breastbone.

Niall rakes his hand through Harry’s hair, scratching at his skull, with Harry’s cock hard in his boxer, he can feel his own stirring up, aching. He straddles Niall’s thighs a little moving down and bending over to press kisses to his stomach, he looks through his eyelashes, “tummy.”

Niall is so enamored and can’t take it that Harry’s so far, that his lips are attached somewhere else and not to his own, so he pulls him back in, kissing him deep. Harry pushes off, tugging off his boxers while Niall does the same, his tie now discarded but the shirt bunched up around his arms.

Niall touches the traces of tattoos, the markings like highlights in a well-read book, _his favorite book_. He has mapped the same body before but tonight it feels different like the pieces have fallen together and he’s finally understood the meaning. He captures Harry’s wrist with his own, caressing the _99pc_ with his thumb and looks up to the boy breathing hard, “think I. Think I want this.”  
Harry chuckles softly, “well, no shit, wouldn’t be starkers otherwise now would I?’

Niall shakes his head no, “I meant, _this_. I think I want this proper for all. Indefinitely.”

He can hear the way Harry sucks in a breath, breaking a little, his eyes maybe misty too but Niall is so dazed by the blush spreading down his own neck and mirroring onto Harry’s.

“Indefinitely,” Harry repeats, kissing him sweetly.

Niall tackles Harry pushing him down towards the foot of the bed his head barely missing the wooden ledge, they’re a giggling mess, legs tangled, and “Can I take off my shirt now? Your Highness.”

“Kinda like the ring to that, Prince Styles. What say?” Harry curls a hand around the nape of Niall’s neck, playing with his hair.

“Only in your imagination,” Niall kisses the cut of his jaw. Harry croons, “ _summertime, butterflies, all belong to your creation_.”

They can’t stop laughing and are giggling in-between kisses until Niall’s reaching down taking Harry in his hands, the callous of his fingers rough against his cock. Harry moans into his mouth gripping onto Niall’s shoulder as the older boy strokes him. Harry is pulling back to breath out,

“Want you. Please.”

Niall lets of him, leaning back on his elbows and reaching the drawer to pull out a box of condoms, Harry flips himself over. “Niall, hurry _up_ ,” he whinges, moaning shakily.

They’ve done stuff before – when they were together in the band, when they were fucking about – but never has he seen Harry so exposed, so raw. This is another level of intimacy that they hadn’t touched, maybe the time wasn’t right and now Niall’s jealous of anyone else who might have seen Harry Styles pleading, demanding. He pushes aside every thought rolling over the condom, squeezing the lube onto himself that he’d also gathered from the drawers.

He carefully eases himself inside Harry making the boy groan out a, “ _fuck!_ ”

He can see Harry shuddering under him, his lips wavering, and he can feel the steady thrum of his own veins, his blood burning under his skin. The entire ordeal is intimate, just for them and Niall is panting hard and he can’t possibly think of a reason why they hadn’t done this before.

He slides in deeper, Harry shifting a little with every inch he takes in, moving in a set balance, with Niall’s hand gripping his shoulder. One more thrust and Harry’s whimpering, moaning out his name, “ _Niall._ ”

\--

The room is quiet, one of the curtains pulled to side as Harry snores softly on his chest, Niall is tracing circles on his back. About three and half months ago he was still running from this boy, about 8 months ago he wasn’t sure if his best mates would even help him with his dream, a year ago he was dubious of his own abilities.

He steals a chaste kiss, pressing his lips to Harry’s and adjusts himself on the pillow. Harry stirs in his sleep, turning to his side as Niall presses against him, “indefinitely.”

\--

“Have you seen the crowd outside?” Laura says, popping in a chip into her mouth. Niall’s stomach growls unpleasantly like how it has been all day, he can’t believe he’s playing MSG. He can’t believe he’s playing MSG _alone_. That’s what, 18000 people? Brutal. He’s going to chuck it and make a living fool out of himself. To top it off his boyfriend isn’t even here.

Rochelle comes running to him handing him a cold bottle of water, “Drink up. Liam said you go on stage in 10.”

“Is he here?” he finds himself asking and she frowns. Turn that into _ex-boyfriend_.

Nine minutes later he has Dan, the equipment guy, adjusting the microphone box to his back pocket, bringing the mouthpiece to his face. He has his guitar slung around him and he’s ready to step on the elevating stand when a familiar voice calls out, “HEY WAIT!”

Harry dashes to his side, a bouquet of flowers in hand – daisies. It’s their thing. He bends, hands on his knees, breathing hard and raises the flowers in Niall’s face, “They didn’t have the right ones. Had to go Staten Island to get them. Sorry.”

Niall pulls his chin up, “For god’s sake, kiss me good luck.”

They kiss sweetly, Liam coming over with Louis by his side – hand in hand – and starts counting down, they pull back, “Shred it, Niall.”

 

**_2 years later_ **

 

“So, ‘ _Hold On’_. Who wrote that?” Niall asks, they’re splayed out on the floor going over lists and lists of venues for next month.

Harry looks up eyes wide, and blinks. His hair is late Where We Are tour length now, maybe even Four promo. Niall likes it long. “Urm, you,” he mumbles, chewing on his bottom lip.

“I knew,” Niall shrugs going back to the lists. They don’t speak for another few minutes until Harry gives up frustrated. “I don’t wanna do this anymore,” he complains.

“Well, we have to tonight because tomorrow you’re recording your first song, no?” Niall reminds him. Oh, that reminds him he should ask Louis or Liam if he’s finishing up the UK tour in Sheffield or not, maybe Jenny knows. “’Sides, I go on tour again on Saturday.”

Harry crawls over to him, pushing aside the list of numbers on Niall’s lap and climbing on, “And that’s why I think we should do something else and _not_ boring prep.”

“Harry, as much as I would like to fuck you on the ground here, we have to figure this out. We can’t do it in the woods like Zayn,” Niall reasons, rubbing the skin right above Harry’s waistband.

“Why not? It’s spacious, lots of people can come, economical, the animals can join us,” Harry lists off, counting each point on his fingers.

Niall looks at him disbelievingly, “I’m not fucking getting _married_ like Snow White.”

“You sure look like one so why not?” ducking and stealing a kiss. Niall giggles into it. They can decide later. They have lots of time. All the time.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> heeeeeeeeeeeey, leave comments kudos and come talk to me on niallohmighty.tumblr.com


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